Wicked Games
by 4n0n1234
Summary: As Insomnia's Royal Strategist, Ignis is pragmatic, reasonable, and always one step ahead of the enemy. But when it comes to Aranea Highwind, Commodore of the Niflheim Empire, he's weak and vulnerable-two traits he can't afford to have, especially when both countries are on the brink of war.
1. Chapter 1

" _World was on fire and no one could save me but you  
Strange what desire will make foolish people do"  
-Chris Isaak_

 **Wicked Games**

Aranea slammed her glass down hard on the pub table, gasping for air, then sneering at her two cohorts sitting across from her. Biggs and Wedge, her longtime friends and subordinates in the military, were still trying desperately to gulp down their craft beers, failing as the liquid dribbled out the corners of their mouths. Finally, Biggs gave up and, ashamed, placed the glass on the table while Wedge still tried to live up to the bet that was placed upon the two of them.

"Give it up, Wedge. You _can't beat me_ ," Aranea emphasized the final words, wiping lazily at her lips with her thumb. Biggs rolled his eyes and Wedge eventually conceded defeat, bringing the nearly empty glass of beer from his lips and mumbling angry curses under his breath. The two men placed their gil in front of them and Aranea reached across and swiped it into her palms, counting and pocketing it without a second though.

"We'll be broke if we keep this up," Biggs disparaged, shoving Wedge like it was his fault they lost the bet in the first place. Wedge pushed back, but Aranea didn't seem to notice, nor care.

"Not my problem," she stated dryly. "Maybe next time you'll learn your lesson before thinking you can take me on. Thought you would know this by now, but I'll keep taking your gil if that's what you guys want. No skin off my nose."

A loud, boisterous laugh snapped her attention over to a table of four young men. One of them, a large, tattooed man, was pounding on the table with his fists as he continued to howl and draw ire glares their way. To his right was a dusty-blonde man, cross-legged and rather annoyed as he sipped his—what appeared to be—scotch with pursed lips. On the other side of the table were two younger guys, laughing just as hard as the tattooed man. It looked like they were mercilessly cracking jokes at the annoyed man's expense.

"Well, they seem to be having fun," Wedge droned, knocking back the rest of his beer before raising a hand to call the server over. It was a busy night, so it took a moment or two for the woman to make her way to them, but she was apologetic and eager to take their order. Aranea nodded for another round, subtly motioning to put it all on her tab.

After all, it was her idea to go out this evening. How often were they in the Crown City, after all? It was a city that many outside the Wall only _dreamed_ of visiting. Granted, they were here on governmental orders to speak with the king, tagging along with the emperor and some other officials, and fun was limited to just a few short hours of their trip, but still.

When the laughter died down, Aranea tutted disapprovingly and circled her finger around the edge of her glass, obviously bored. The table of four men burst into merriment again. "Who _are_ those guys?" she hissed. "Goddamn, they're annoying."

Biggs peered just beyond Aranea's shoulder to get a better look and then shrugged. "Not sure, m'lady. Looks almost like th' prince and his entourage, but that's absurd, yeh agree? Out here in public like this?"

"Far too rambunctious to be the prince, I say," Wedge agreed. "They'd give the Royal Family a bad name if that were the case."

Aranea tossed her silver hair, tied up in braids and black ribbon, and scoffed. "Definitely. This district is too rowdy for the likes of royalty, anyway."

Wedge's face contorted and twisted into one of confusion. "But, Lady A . . . you're royalty.

"No, I'm a military official. There's a difference," she corrected, tipping her empty glass in Wedge's direction. "Besides, they seem like they're having _too_ much fun for it to be the prince and his gang. Figured the Royal Family and its lineage would be stuffier or whatever."

The table of four men behind her shouted again and Aranea turned in her chair. She opened her mouth to yell at them to 'shut the fuck up', but stopped when her eyes caught that of the irate, bespectacled man. He was unamused as the two younger men, one blonde and the other jet-black haired, chugged their beers much like she had just moments ago with her friends.

He looked at her, intense and penetrating, and sat up in his chair, the ice in his glass settling as a single drip of condensation fell off the bottom and on the fabric of his pants. His features were sharp and he looked incredibly put together, the coeurl print shirt fitted over his lean, yet muscular, frame. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he feigned a grin in Aranea's direction, his eyes just about begging for help. She wanted to mouth 'Sorry' or something that showed she took pity on him, but all she could do was giggle nervously. The way he held himself, held that glass, held her gaze, made Aranea feel things.

"Sorry about that wait, guys!" the server from earlier yelled over the crowd, a tray of three drinks in her hand. Aranea snapped her head back to the table as her drink was placed carefully in front of her. "Let me know if you guys need anything else, alright? I'll check back on you in a bit!"

"About damn time," Wedge mumbled when she was out of earshot, taking a long gulp of his beer. Biggs followed suit, but Aranea turned back around to look at the guy she'd locked eyes with. His friends were still there—though their drinks were gone and the three of them looked progressively sloppy—but his chair was now empty. Her eyes darted around the room, hoping that maybe he hadn't left.

"Whatcha lookin' fer, Lady A?" Biggs asked, grunting as someone unapologetically bumped into the back of his chair.

At first, Aranea ignored his question and continued to look around the bar. With a sigh, she sat back in her chair. "There was a guy at that table. Glasses, spiked hair, dressed in a suit. Easy on the eyes, too. I think he left, though. He's not there anymore."

Wedge pointed just over her shoulder at a spot at the bar. "Yeh mean that guy?"

She spun around, following the direction of her subordinate's finger. It was hard to judge while he was sitting, but now Aranea could see he was much taller than she thought. His jaw was set firmly, displaying his frustration at the lack of service he was receiving.

"Yup, that's him," she confirmed. "And, what a coincidence! I'm _incredibly_ thirsty." Aranea guzzled down her beer so fast, it even impressed her two friends. With an undignified swipe of her lips with the back of her hand, she scooted her chair back enough so she could get up from the table. She saw the knowing looks exchanged between the guys. "Oh, don't you _dare_ throw those judging looks at each other. I'm in a foreign city, there's an attractive guy at the bar, and I'm single."

One of them, Aranea wasn't sure who, coughed uncomfortably. Then, Wedge frowned. "Single fer now. Yeh said things weren't cleared up with— "

Aranea practically leaped across the table to shut him up. "Ah! Ah ah, no! Don't even say his name. Don't ruin my good mood by bringing that fucker into this conversation. I'm _single_."

"Aranea, he had no choice," Biggs reasoned, his voice softer now.

"Yeah, he did. He could've had my back. That asshole chose to sit while I had to fend for myself in front of council. He didn't even so much as bat an eye while I got my ass chewed out for that mission . . . a mission he convinced me would be good for my career. So, no. Fuck him. We're done. Now, if you'll excuse me," she sneered, "I have a date with a hot gentleman at the bar."

"Call us if yeh need us!" Biggs hollered as Aranea disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Ignis tapped his finger impatiently on the sticky, laminated wood of the bar, waiting to be acknowledged amongst the drunken crowd. The ice in his drink had melted to create a diluted version of the scotch he'd been working on. Normally, he'd order his scotch neat, but this was a cheap dive bar and the stuff he was used to was a foreign label to these people. As a result, he was forced to drink this bottom of the barrel stuff and he tried to offset the taste with some ice. A futile effort since all it did was water down the already shitty liquor.

His buzz was beginning to wane and he was growing irritable by the minute, internally seething and, if he were being honest, desperate to leave right now. The only reason he was even here was that Noctis was a nervous wreck with the upcoming peace talks with Niflheim. It would be the first time he'd show his prowess in front of not only his father but a foreign nation's leaders as well. Noctis wanted a night off from the stress of the every day and dammit if Ignis wasn't going to tag along to make sure his prince at least minded his manners while out.

Noctis had promised only a drink, _maybe_ two, and then they'd go home. But, that was before Gladiolus, his Shield, insisted on coming to keep them safe and before Prompto, Noctis' best friend, begged to tag along. So, here was Ignis, sticking out like a sore thumb among the three as they drunkenly giggled and hiccupped over the stupidest shit.

"Excuse me, can I— "

"Sir, could you give me just a minute? These customers at the end of the bar were here first. I'll be right with you, though," the bartender hurried, popping open the tops of two beer bottles and rushing away from Ignis.

"Certainly," he hissed, rolling his eyes and bringing his glass to his lips to savor the watery alcohol. He flipped a gil in the air, watching it twirl before catching it in his palm, only to repeat the action a second and third time. With every passing second, he resisted the urge to snap at the nearest employee of the establishment for just one drink.

It was like he was invisible in this goddamn bar.

"You look thirsty," a low, throaty voice crooned from behind. Ignis jumped, startled by the intrusion. He looked over his shoulder at a beautiful, very well-endowed woman with the most devilish smirk spread across her red lips. "Need some help?" she nudged.

Ignis narrowed his eyes and moved slightly to make room for the woman at the bar. She scooted her way in and leaned with one elbow resting on the countertop while half-sitting on a stool. She didn't say anything else and Ignis debated leaving his glass on the bar and walking out the door. He'd had it with the night and the effort of chasing any sort of buzz was nearly exhausting at this point. Still, something about the woman in front of him intrigued him. "I've tried, but the service here is abysmal. I have great doubts you'll be able to accomplish what I've tried to achieve in the last five minutes."

The woman let out a hearty laugh and turned, leaning almost completely over the entire bar, her long fingers outstretched. "Hey! You! Bartender! Can we get some drinks over here? My friend here and I are thirsty and your sorry asses are going to lose out on a pretty sweet tip if you don't serve us!" she threatened, earning a few glares from surrounding patrons. The bartender nodded apologetically and came right over to grab their order. One scotch on the rocks and one 32-ounce beer on special.

When both drinks were placed in front of the pair and the payment settled, Ignis couldn't help but smirk and raise his glass to the woman who helped him. "Thank you for this . . . erm . . ." he paused, grasping at straws for her name.

"Aranea," she said, holding out a hand. Ignis shook it and admired the way she held herself and how firm her grip was. "Aranea Highwind."

For a brief second, a flash of recognition crossed Ignis' face. He'd heard that name somewhere. It wasn't a common name, by any means, and he specifically remembered that it was the name of someone who was an official. Someone who held quite a bit of power. The fact that he couldn't recall who it was he was trying to think of bothered him more than he cared to admit. Ignis figured it would be one of those things where it would come to him in an instant if he just stopped dwelling on it, so he put the thought aside for now.

He shook his head and smiled. "Ignis Scientia," he returned with his own name, clinking his glass to hers and savoring the smoky liquor as it sat on his tongue before swallowing. Gods, he needed this. He thought about ordering another one while he still could, just to avoid waiting in between drinks, but Aranea was one step ahead of him and already had her gil on the edge of the counter for another round. She shot him a knowing look with a wink and he smiled in return, swirling his drink.

"So, _Ignis_ ," she hummed, leaning just so the v-neck of her shirt revealed her cleavage, "what brings you out here on a Wednesday night? You looked bored as fuck, and this place doesn't seem like a joint you'd willingly go to on a weeknight unless you were dragged here by your buddies against your own free will."

"What kind of 'joint' do you assume I'd frequent, if not this one?" Ignis kept his eyes focused on hers, willing her to smirk when he didn't fall for her trap of seducing him with her low-cut shirt.

She took a long swig of her beer, eyeing him up and down and analyzing who she thought he was. "One of those high-class cocktail lounges with the padded, velvet booths, the girls in tight-ass black dresses, a man playing piano in the middle of the room, and hushed conversations," Aranea stopped, tilting her head curiously. "Did I get it close?"

Ignis shook his head and leaned casually against the bar, his drink in one hand while his other hand waved her assumptions off with an air of superiority. "I'm afraid you couldn't be further from the truth. I'd much rather be home right now as I have quite the amount of paperwork to sift through." He pushed his glasses up with his middle finger. "While I can't deny that I do love a good time, a tavern like this is not the type of place I'd call 'fun', so you at least have that correct."

"So, then why _are_ you here, instead of at home like a hermit?"

He pointed through a gap in the mass of people to the table he was at before. "The young man with the black hair? The besotted gentleman sitting on the right-hand side of the table?" he began, embarrassed as Noctis and Prompto raced, again, to see who could finish their drinks fastest, but instead spewing the beer everywhere when Gladio made them laugh at some dumb joke. Ignis lowered his head in shame, covering his face with his free hand and sighing. "He's my student and I agreed to allow him a night out for keeping up with his work. It appears he's having far more fun than I usually would allow . . . but I digress."

"Oh, you're a teacher?"

He nodded slightly. "Private tutor, if you will, as well as family friend. His father took me in when I was a child and I've been indebted to them ever since. It's my duty to look after him, but I seem to have lost sight of that tonight." It wasn't a lie; more like omitting the larger aspects of what he did for Noctis and the royal family. One could never be too careful. Anything to keep Noctis' identity a secret from meddlesome strangers.

"I see. So, you're like, what? Super smart or something?"

A small chuckle. "You could say that."

"Arrogant, too. Cocky."

Ignis laughed again and, this time, his eyes almost lit up. He shot another quick look over to the three friends at his table, oblivious to his absence. "You know, I was about to head back to the table to babysit my friends, but would you like to accompany me outside instead? It's a tad stuffy in here and I could use the fresh air. We could keep a tab open if you'd like?"

With a small gesture to the door, Aranea complied. "Thought you'd never ask. Just lead the way."

* * *

Time flew when the two were outside chatting. It started out as small talk at first, but the alcohol worked to keep the conversation flowing, both uninhibited and flirtatious.

"Sexy accent you have there. You could read a dictionary and make it sound hot," she complimented. Ignis chuckled while another round of drinks, ordered earlier, was deposited on the wrought-iron table they were sitting at. The night air grew crisp, the telltale sign of the arrival of autumn, and both drank thankfully from their glasses in an attempt to warm themselves and hold off the chill of the night a bit longer. "Which leads me to my next question: are you from here?"

Ignis frowned. "I'm afraid I am not."

"Where are you from, then, if you're not from here?"

"Wouldn't you love you know?" he returned in a facetious manner, the liquor having turned his prior sour disposition into a more fun and carefree one. As she grunted her exasperation, he smiled and relented. "Tenebrae. I was born and raised in Tenebrae until the age of six, where I was then sent here to attend to the prin—er, my pupil."

Her eyes widened. "Goddamn, you've been working since you were six? The pay must be fucking killer if you've stayed as a _tutor_ for this long," she remarked, receiving a narrowed glare from across the table. Aranea scoffed, crossing her legs in a huff but never turning away from him. Apparently, talking about pay was uncouth in his eyes.

When he felt she learned her lesson—though, he could read people enough to know that she was stubborn and really didn't care what he, or anyone else, thought—his face softened and he knocked his drink back. "What about you? Insomnia may be quite large, but I've never seen your face in this city."

She could feel her heart as it thudded against the inside of her chest. It would be foolish to tell him she was from Niflheim and she was just in town for the peace talks, so instead, she lied. "I'm from a small town in Lucis. Probably one you've never heard of. You know . . . one of those that are just outside of a big city."

He pursed his lips. "A town I've never heard of? Try me. I think you'll find I know far more than you think."

"I doubt it," she wavered, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with him. "It's not a huge—"

"Where's it near? Coernix Bypass? Kettier Highland? Vannath Coast?" he listed, noting the crease between her eyebrows as she fought for composure. "You said it yourself, my dear, that I am quite intelligent—my knowledge of our world's cities and towns is no exception.

They were caught in a stalemate when Aranea started to drink more and more to busy herself. Ignis realized she wasn't keen on letting on where she was from, for whatever reason, and she wondered if he'd ever let up on asking. Finally, she let out a heaving sigh as she caught her breath from chugging her beer. "Tell you what; you take me out on a proper date one day when I'm back in town. Then, and only then, I'll let you in on where I'm from. Until you do, I'm keeping my lips sealed."

Ignis reclined back in his chair, regarding Aranea down the length of his nose. "Ahh, is that what we're playing at? A . . . proper date?" he tried the words out, much to Aranea's chagrin.

"It's only fair, seeing as I'm the reason you were able to get that drink of yours at the bar. Without me, you'd still be up there, waiting for that stupid bartender to come back to you," she teased, giving him a wink as she propped her chin up in the palm of her hand.

"And how might I properly come pick you up from your home if you don't divulge that information to me? You wouldn't make me search every remote village and town in Lucis looking for you, would you? It would be imprudent of you to allow that to happen," he stated, his voice dripping with dry humor.

The more he drank, the looser he felt. His synapses were dulled and his tongue was beginning to feel too big for his mouth with every drink he ordered, but he had no desire to leave this beautiful stranger alone.

Ignis was no fool; he saw the way the other men in this bar looked at her and the glares he received for being so damn privileged to even be in Aranea's presence. He knew if he even so much as blinked, one of several men would try to swoop in and take his place. Like hell would he let that happen. It had been far too long since he felt this strong of an attraction toward someone else and she managed to simultaneously paralyze and enliven him in both the best and worst ways. He wasn't about to let her go that easy.

But life never works out the way anyone expects it to.

Just as he opened his mouth to ask another question in an attempt to get to know her better, Ignis was shoved forward by someone splaying their arms around his shoulders. "Specs! Heeyyy buddy! Theeereee you aarre! Whatcha dooin' ou' here? We were lookin' all over for youuu," Noctis' voice slurred in Ignis' ear, reeking of the several beers he downed. Every word was dragged out, elongated and incoherent to the untrained ear. Ignis, however, had dealt with an intoxicated Noctis on many occasions, especially now that he and Prompto were both of legal Insomnian drinking age. His speech while drunk was nothing Ignis couldn't decipher. "Prom's s-sick as fuuckk in the bathroom and I'm _tired_ and Gladio's like . . . dude is gone. So wasted. He's drunk and . . . heyyy, who's this?" he stopped, judging the woman across the table through a half-lidded stare.

Aranea snorted and Ignis shrugged Noctis' arms from around him. Upon standing, Ignis realized just how inebriated he was, the ground and his surroundings spinning, throwing his balance off so he had to grip tight to Noctis' bicep. After giving Aranea a sheepish grin, Ignis took Noctis to the side, in the shadows against the outside wall of the bar, and whispered firmly in his ear. "Highness, you've got to get a hold of yourself, for the love of the Six. You're going to draw attention your way and that is something we cannot afford right now, especially if Gladio is as incapacitated as you say he is."

Noctis cocked his head to the side, unable to focus on Ignis. "Duuuude, you gooottta stop using biiiiig words. In . . . inca . . . incapaticated? Inpacacipated? Iggy, duddde, it hurts my head."

Ignis sighed. "I assure you that my vocabulary is not the reason for your headache."

Noctis danced from foot to foot, nearly stumbling over at one point before Ignis managed to catch him, righting him and holding both shoulders in his hands. He searched Noctis' face for any sort of sign that he was cognizant, but it was clear that the prince was three sheets to the wind and had no idea the scene he was starting to cause. A drunken smile curled the corners of his lips. "Specs. I'm. So. Plastered." Every word was punctuated as if he wanted to hammer home just how drunk he was. "We gootta go hooooommmeeee. You dr-drove us so youuuu take us . . . take _me_ . . . I'm _tiiirrred."_

Ignis pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose and frowned. "Unfortunately, and rather irresponsibly of me, I've had entirely too much to drink and I'm afraid I cannot drive us home tonight," he admitted, embarrassed that he'd let his obligations fall to the wayside tonight, all because he was hypnotized by Aranea Highwind's charm and failed to keep track of his alcohol intake. "Noctis, would it be fine with you if I were to grab a cab for you and the others?" he kept his voice low and the mention of Noctis' name even lower. No one could know that he was _the_ Noctis, future king of Insomnia.

Especially in a state like this.

"Duuude, come _onnnn_. You can't expect me to go hooommee all by myself. You have to—" he hiccupped and giggled, " –Specs, you have to come with. Iss my fault you are here. Alllll my fault and I'm just . . . Specs you're such a good friend, you know that?"

"Thank you, Highness."

Noctis sputtered a weird sound, something like a mix between laughter and a noise that showed his disapproval at the title. Although Noctis was royalty, Ignis knew he always preferred to leave the formalities at the door when they were out and about like they were tonight. Still, it was a request that Ignis couldn't find in his heart to follow. The use of the title was so engrained in him that it was just habit at this point.

"Ok, soooo . . . you're coming wi-with ussss . . . right? You hhhaaavveee to come wiiithh uss!" Another hiccup and snicker.

Ignis shifted uncomfortably, debating the best course of action in this situation. He could stay and chat with Aranea after calling a cab for his friends, but that would go against all of his prior vows and sworn oaths of personally seeing to it that his liege was always brought home in one piece. It didn't matter that Gladio and Prompto would be with him, especially if they were just as impaired as Noctis was.

Unfortunately, it looked like Ignis had no choice but to leave. He guided Noctis back to the table where Aranea sat patiently, amused at the pair. "Apologies, but it seems my friend needs help getting home tonight. I hope you don't find it rude of me to accompany my companions back to his apartment."

She shrugged. "Not at all, but then who's going to make sure you get back to _your_ apartment alright?"

"I am apt to take care of myself. There's no need to worry yourself over my wellbeing, though I do appreciate the thought."

"Yeah, but safety in numbers and all that. Besides, this place is getting dull and I'm sure my friends already left to go back to their hotel rooms. So?" Aranea insisted, a twinkle in her eye. "What do you say, Ignis?"

The loud chatter of the bar patrons floated outside into the cool autumn air, creating a soft white noise. Then, Ignis smirked and took a chance—one he wasn't sure he normally would've taken if he were half as sober. "I don't suppose you have anywhere to be in the morning?"

"Not unless it includes sleeping in with you in your bed."

Ignis felt the blood rush from his head down to his member in his pants, yet there was still enough blood to turn his entire face bright red at the sudden forwardness of the woman he'd been talking to all night. It was suddenly hard to breathe and he wanted to moan at what she was brazenly implying.

Aranea kept a straight face, just innocent enough to drive Ignis crazy. As she finished off the last of her beer, he nodded. "I'll see to cashing out our tab and calling a big enough cab for the five of us. Meet us out front in ten minutes," Ignis instructed, leading Noctis away as he tried to drunkenly protest to release him at once.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hello! I'm back! Got another multi-chapter fic coming your way! This is an AU and I plan on it being a lot darker and mature than my last one.**

 **I'm excited to get this one going and I've talked at length about this for the last month with my husband and some friends, so I hope you guys enjoy! I'm happy to be back :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: 10 pages of smut! Definitely NSFW. You've been warned.**

* * *

 **II**

The ride home was . . . eventful, to say the least. Prompto complained several times that he was feeling nauseous and he needed to throw up, Noctis droned on and on that Ignis was the _best_ (but stopping short of calling him 'the best advisor' when Ignis promptly slapped his hands on Noctis' mouth to shut him up, lest Aranea find out who he really was), and Gladio snored loudly in the back seat of the cab-van vehicle. The entire time, Ignis looked utterly distraught and continued to shoot Aranea apologetic glances, to which he'd receive a shrug and a wink in return.

Once the men were dropped off at Noctis' apartment for the night, and after insisting that he really didn't want to come inside because he had a large workload to go through the next day before their _meeting_ , Ignis got back into the van and gave the cab driver his address—a flat in the heart of downtown Insomnia, close enough to the Citadel but far enough to grant himself his own space. At first, Ignis and Aranea remained chaste; a lustful side-glance, the 'accidental' skirting of knees together, hearts beating so loud that the other _swore_ it was audible.

They tried—gods willing, they tried to hold out until they reached his place, but their resolve waned quicker than they could imagine, partly due to the copious amount of alcohol they drank, but also because the magnetism between each other was unlike anything they could fathom. It took Aranea all but diving across the back-bench seat of the van, both hands holding Ignis' face as she captured his lips in a dissolute kiss. After that, the floodgates opened and it was no-holds barred. Their hands were all over each other; his finding the bare skin of her stomach under her shirt, hers palming shamelessly at his hardened cock under the seam of his pants.

When they arrived at his building, Ignis hopped out, held his hand out to make sure Aranea stepped out safely, which she took ever so graciously, and he threw a wad of money at the driver, saying something along the lines of 'keep the change' and smirking when the driver mumbled 'lucky bastard' under his breath. The two stumbled toward the elevator, rode up the several floors to his level, and spilled out to his door. As he finagled with his keys ( _Why were there so many keys,_ he screamed in his head), Aranea took the opportunity to shove Ignis against the hallway wall in front of his apartment door, moaning desperately into his mouth as their tongues found each others. Once again, her hands pawed at his belt and reached down inside his pants, cupping him as she bit his lower lip.

"What's taking you so long?" she goaded.

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. All words were flying out the proverbial window, something he most certainly was not accustomed to. He _always_ had the upper hand. He was a strategist. The Crown City's tactician. It wasn't like him to become mere putty—no less in the hands of a random woman he met at a seedy dive bar. It was too much. Not enough. Everything was muddled. "Goddamn," he hissed, to which Aranea laughed. "I can't . . . ahhhh . . . I can't . . . _fuck_ . . . my keys . . ."

"Having trouble? You better hurry up and find those keys of yours . . . otherwise, I'll have to fuck you right here, and I doubt you'd want that . . . or . . ." she trailed off, squeezing him enough to draw a long, deep gasp from him, "maybe you _would_ want that."

For a few seconds more, Ignis allowed her to fondle him as he grew harder in her hands, only breaking away when he picked out his apartment key amongst the several other keys he had on his ring, shoving it into the lock and throwing the door open.

They crashed through the front door of the apartment, drunkenly kissing and staggering their way inside, not even bothering to turn on a single light in the pristine, immaculate flat. Ignis, a bit dizzy from too much scotch and lust, attempted to drop his keys on the entryway table but missed. The keys fell to the floor with a loud _clink_. He knew his place like the back of his hand, having lived here since he was the ripe age of twenty, and deftly guided Aranea, while still lip-locked, inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

As the door slammed shut, Aranea moaned. This would be easy, she thought. A quick fuck and she'd be on her way. It had been too long since she last laid in bed with a man, a crushing presence on top of her. She missed that, but fuck if that wasn't happening tonight.

Her hands were in his hair, crunching gelled strands as she pulled him closer, parting his lips with her tongue. Ignis moaned into her mouth, tasting the cheap beer that she chugged earlier. She smirked and Ignis finally found his way to the wall, shoving her against it with such fervor that she gasped loudly. It did little in the way of slowing them down; instead, he wasted no time in peeling off the low-cut top that displayed the plunging cleavage of her chest, tossing it aside.

"You're a man who knows what he wants," she purred, moving her lips down his jaw, to his neck, and along his collarbone; kissing and biting every bare inch of skin. Ignis didn't even dignify that comment with a response—instead, he groaned a low and dangerous sound, his eyes half-closed as he tossed his head to the side to allow her better access to the crook between his neck and shoulder.

Not so incapacitated that he couldn't move, he brought his hands up behind Aranea's back while she continued to bury her face in his shoulder, making quick work of the clasp of her bra. Soon, she was topless and his hands played with her breasts, teasing her pert nipples. She stopped biting at his collarbone long enough to sigh. Despite their height difference—Ignis a good head and a half taller than her—he bent down enough to take a nipple in his mouth. Aranea relaxed against the wall as she allowed him to play with her, her hips rocking slightly with want.

She tried to utter out some words, something to spur him on and provoke his innermost carnal behavior, but all that came out were whimpers. Her nails dug into the back of his neck, creating crescent-shaped marks, as he rolled the erect and tight nubs with his tongue, breathing hot and heavy on her chest. He could have kept going—gods, how he wanted to—but she spun him around with strength he wouldn't have expected from a woman of her stature and appearance and she pinned him against the very wall she was just against.

"My turn," was all she said.

His glasses were slightly askew as she fumbled with the buckle of his belt. It didn't take too long for her to undo the clasp, whipping the accessory from around his waist and abandoning it somewhere behind her. Quickly, her fingers were popping open each button on his shirt, revealing the pale skin of his chest in wide swatches of moonlight through his sweeping window. Ignis leaned forward, desperate to put his lips on hers again, but she tutted under her breath, dodging his attempt and kissing her way down the entire length of his torso, leaving dark marks and love bites along the way. Her tongue left cold trails along the planes of his abdominals, all the way down to the waistline of his pants.

He moaned a guttural sound, his hands snarled in her hair as she knelt before him, tugging his trousers down just enough to show off his dark boxer briefs. She looked up at him through hooded eyes, smirking at the debauched expression he wore as she held him still against the wall with both hands. Her breath was hot against his cock, hard and painfully pressed against his underwear, already a wet mark forming where precome was seeping through. Aranea's fingers crawled up from where they were against his thighs to the band of his briefs, teasing as she peeled said band down to expose him to her. His cock stood at attention in front of her, heavy and engorged, practically throbbing.

"Hmmm, not bad," she murmured, her hand gripping along his length and tugging earnestly while her tongue licked away the bead of precome that pearled at the head of his dick. She didn't devote any more time in teasing him, instead relishing the soft whine that he breathed as she took him in her mouth.

Somewhere, between the van, the elevator, to the door, and this wall, Ignis clued in on the fact that this would be no ordinary night—it was a battle over who would reign dominant in the end.

And like _hell_ , if he was going to lose.

When he started to buck his hips, fucking deep into her mouth, she startled him by pressing against him with her hands, stilling him against the wall. While trapped under her hold, she continued to suck and play with him, moving one hand away from his thigh and traced her fingernail down in between his legs, only to surprise him by lightly following up around his balls. Ignis rocked his head back against the wall, the sound loud and echoing throughout the flat. The whines coming from him were nothing if not obscene and it was downright embarrassing for him. The more he tried to keep quiet, the more she tried to draw out another moan. A gasp. A wanton expression.

He wanted to finish there in her mouth; unload himself into her until she sucked him dry; on the other hand, he also wanted a turn at pleasuring her, to show that he could be just as good, if not better, than her in this department. So, with all the strength he could muster while she kissed up and down his shaft, he yanked her up by her arm and smirked at her startled yelp. "My turn," he growled, using her own words against her this time and pushing her several steps into his kitchen.

On the stainless-steel counter, papers and files were stacked precisely in order of urgency. It took all but one swipe of Ignis' arm to clear the documents away, where they fluttered haphazardly to the ground in a flurry.

"Not important?" Aranea breathed.

Ignis' eyes cut down toward the papers and, in an instant, back up to her. "Apparently not," he responded, lifting Aranea up onto the counter where the papers previously resided, his hand placing slight pressure on her chest as a command to lay back.

Aranea resisted. "Sorry, buddy; I don't lay on my back for just anyone." She was breathless and dizzy, despicable lustful thoughts running through her brain. Ignis raised an eyebrow, daring her to question his intentions one more time. Another forceful press to her upper body and soon she was on her back, the chill of the counter sending shivers up and down her spine.

Though he was heavily inebriated, he still managed to undo the buttons of her jeans and unzip the zipper with surprising ease. She raised her hips up just enough for him to pull her pants off and then her black lace panties, sopping wet. Vulnerable and wanting, she couldn't help but ball her hands into fists as his hands roamed up her legs and between her thighs, parting them so she was exposed to him. At first, he stood there admiring her body as she laid on his countertop. It irritated Aranea for some reason, but when she leaned up to bark an insult at him, she halted. With the moonlight cutting through his windows and lighting up sections of his face, he looked even more ravishing than she ever thought possible.

He caught her stare, pupils dilated and eyes licentious. Leaning forward while both hands held her legs apart, he kissed her knee, up her inner thigh, between the crease where her hips and legs met. The entire time, he maintained eye contact as she held herself up, albeit a bit shaky, on her elbows to watch him lavish her with kisses. She knew he was waiting for the precise moment where she couldn't take his incessant teasing any longer, but he'd have to work a bit harder to get her to crack.

Luckily, he was a patient man, willing to bide his time while she struggled for composure; sucking dark marks onto her skin where her pants would do well to hide them, licking just around the slick of her folds, careful to avoid her clit as she trembled. Whenever she fought to close her legs to him, he'd win out by holding her open, sneering all the while. Right when she thought she'd proven that she would withstand his coquettishness, she let slip an almost indiscernible cry when he let his thumb swipe close to her entrance, wet with want. He clicked his tongue when she tried to strategically move herself down to feel _any_ part of him inside of her, but he denied her that gratification. If looks could kill, the narrowed eyes and snarl she was shooting his way would've been enough to cause instantaneous death.

"I see you fighting to have the upper hand in this game, but you're going to lose. You may think you can hold out against me, Ms. Highwind," he susurrated, his mouth slackened slightly so he was breathing over every pulsating nerve, "but allow me to show you why I _never_ lose at anything I set my mind to."

He saw her begin to nod, desire emitting from every pore of her body. She swallowed forcefully, giving in . . . for now, at least. Finally, when he deigned her subservient enough to him, he closed the small gap between him and her, using the largest part of his tongue to lick the sensitive nub. He drew lazy circles, occasionally planting a sloppy kiss before sucking and playing with her. She cried out— _More, gods, please, Ignis_ —one hand flying up to the back of his head and then holding him in place by wrapping her legs just over his shoulders. Surely, he'd suffocate before long, but what a good way to go if he did say so himself.

Intoxicating. She was intoxicating and he salivated at the sweetness of her nectar. He couldn't breathe, but he was insatiable at the same time, drinking her in and nuzzling her heat in varying tempos—one minute he'd slow and laugh as she tried to catch her breath, the next he was teasing the bundle of nerves and lapping at the fruits of his labor with intense ardor. She arched her back as he hummed softly on her, pulling away just as she begged him again for release.

He didn't even mind the mess she was making on the countertop; fluids slicking the inside of her thighs and smearing under them on the surface of the counter. It only spurred him on to please her more so she could leave proof of herself—of this night's existence—on the stainless steel. Sober Ignis could deal with cleaning up in the morning—for now, he'd revel in the fact that he was between the legs of an impossibly-attractive and fierce woman . . . a woman who approached _him._ Wanted to be with _him_. Someone who, crazy enough, _challenged_ him in more ways than one.

As he flattened his tongue against her clit, another loud and keening moan echoing in the apartment, he reached down to jerk himself, hoping for a reprieve. His erection was damn near painful at this point and he was finding it difficult to hold off any longer. It was getting to a point where his cock ached to be inside of her; to feel her warmth, her desire, her _desperation_. Her walls around him, pulsating.

Once again, he was pulling her up, only now it was into a halfway-sitting position. Their eyes met and the sheen, the result of her arousal, reflected off of his lips and chin. As if she couldn't contain herself, she lurched forward, capturing his lips with hers. Curled forward while still sitting on the counter, she snickered into their kiss while he kept both hands on the surface as leverage.

"Take me to your bedroom," she urged between their kiss. "Fuck me, _please_. Take me to your room and _fuck me_."

As she moved from his lips and kissed along his jaw, taking great care to taste herself on him, she felt him hoist her up and away from the counter. On instinct, she wrapped her legs around him and ground against him while he carried her to the bedroom on the other end of the flat. Aranea only looked up for a brief moment, extracting herself from biting marks along his collarbone, to see that the bedroom—dark, modern, and typical from someone like Ignis—was just as immaculate as the rest of the apartment had been, with floor-to-ceiling windows displaying a beautiful view of Insomnia.

"Impressive," she whispered, but at this point, she could've been talking about anything; the apartment, the view, the gigantic windows, his tongue, his cock, the way he just _knew_ what to say and do. . . It had been a long time since Aranea had been pleasured like this and it was obvious that, not only did Ignis know what he was doing, as he'd boasted, but he was also having far too much fun with this.

Maybe she'd met her match after all—someone who could hold their own against her.

They crashed against a large piece of furniture—a beautiful, solid wood dresser with a large mirror behind it. It was supposed to be there for aesthetics and to make the already large room look bigger, but tonight it was being used for more ill-disciplined reasons . . . reasons that Ignis had not intended when he purchased the piece.

Once he let her down, her feet touching the hardwood floors, his lips crashing into hers for a brief, but passionate, kiss. Forcefully, he turned her around to face the mirror, busying himself by opening one of the top drawers and scrabbling for the box of condoms under several pairs of gloves. Ripping the single packet open with his teeth, he quickly rolled the condom on and returned his attention back to the mirror, smirking when he locked eyes with Aranea. Her upper body and neck were splotchy with red marks and perspiration shined between her breasts, a droplet of sweat running down her chest.

His hands slithered up and cupped her breasts, tweaking her nipples. The sight of her closing her eyes, face pinched but sounds stifled in her throat, made Ignis' heart flutter. "Have you ever watched yourself in front of a mirror?" he asked, pinching a nipple between his fingers.

"Ahh . . . I . . . no . . . shit, no . . ." she exhaled, her head falling back onto his shoulder as he toyed with her.

He nodded thoughtfully, a dark expression on his face. "I see." Without another word, he dropped his hands to her hips, lined himself up with her and entered slowly. They moaned in ecstasy as he buried himself inside her. She tried to look away, but Ignis twisted his fingers in her hair, jerking back to not only force her to keep watching them in the reflection, but also to grant himself access to her neck as he kissed and bit her.

Every sharp drive into her resulted in a lewd, wet noise of their bodies coming together; skin slapping against skin. Aranea's whining devolved into a low, sobbing sound, punctuated with the occasional 'fuck me', 'harder', and dirty epithets. Ignis yanked her hair again, biting right in the crook of her neck while keeping eye contact with her over the rims of his glasses, somehow still on despite everything.

They looked good—no, _fucking flawless_ —together. The way his deltoid muscles tensed, her taut and flat stomach, how domineering he was over her as he gritted his teeth every time he thrust inside of her, and the way her body quaked when his hands roamed, occasionally reaching to audaciously grab her ass. Every time he drove into her, her breasts swung hypnotically. Was it possible to feel like this moment, every sensation and movement, wasn't enough?

How was that even possible?

He teased her clit as he continued to fuck her and kiss her shoulders, neck, and upper back. Now, she was begging, _pleading_ , for him to push her over the precipice. "What's that?" he murmured, biting her earlobe as he brought his finger up to her lips, moaning as she tasted herself.

"Please . . . make me come . . . I can't . . . I need . . . "

Her breathing was shallow and a luster of sweat had begun to appear on her brow. Another smirk as he pulled her hair again, eliciting a vociferous cry. "Only when I allow it. You see, I want to watch you writhe a bit more."

Before he could do anything else to her—whatever it was he was planning on doing—she shoved back hard enough to knock him away several steps, turning quick and forcing him onto the bed where she straddled him on top of the covers. The fight for dominance switched, but Ignis barely struggled under Aranea's weight, choosing to relax into the bed while his hands wandered up and down her thighs, her hips, anywhere she'd let him. His fingers twitched with desire as Aranea leaned forward, perched above the head of his cock. "I don't think so," she shushed, her hair falling around him. "You don't get to tell me when I can and can't come. We may be in your home and on your turf, but we play by my rules, now."

Ignis shifted under her, thrusting upwards, scowling. "You insufferable cunt," he snapped, his words barely eliciting anything more than a pleased grin from her.

It was a slow, drawn out moment as Aranea lowered herself onto Ignis. "Oh, my dear, I'll _show_ you how insufferable I can be." For the first time, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and the moan that escaped his lips was nothing short of divine. She remained still for a few short seconds, allowing him to jerk his hips, urging her to move. They both knew he wanted to beg, just like she had against the dresser, but he bit his lower lip and resisted. His eyes screwed shut and his mouth fell open into a silent moan while his fingers squeezed tight into the muscle of her thighs, sure to leave tiny bruises in the morning.

"Aranea . . . you're so . . . " he whimpered, trying once again to struggle against her for the sake of getting her to do _something_.

The powers indeed shifted between them and now Ignis was under her control. Satisfied that he'd learned his lesson—never try to tame a Highwind—she lifted up. He was almost completely out of her before she came crashing back down on top of him, vulgar phrases like a second language to him by now.

Ignis was sure the neighbors could hear them, screaming and crying for each other, but he couldn't care less right now. Sure, being pretty intoxicated helped a lot, but this was . . . _fuck._ He had to hand it to her—Aranea definitely knew how to move her hips and ride him so they both could feel complete and utter bliss. While she rocked on him, leaned over so her breasts were in his face, she reached between them and played with herself, creeping closer and closer toward the point of no return. Because they'd edged each other all night, like they had something to prove to each other—who was stronger, better, smarter, the dominant one—it was easy to fall over that pinnacle into that boneless state of rapture they were now seeking.

Ignis' movements were becoming more and more erratic and Aranea tensed, fingers still on herself between them, crying out as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body and stars exploded behind her eyes; an orgasm so hard and intense that she could practically taste it on the tip of her tongue. As she was finishing, Ignis pulled her down, kissing her hard and moaning her name into her mouth.

" _Aranea_." His voice muffled. Clutching tight to her sides. Skin radiating heat and very blotched. He lacked rhythm anymore as he fucked her, thrusting several more times. Harder, heat pooling in his stomach, his toes curling as he was coming inside of her, and then . . .

His grip slackened on her and they tried to catch their breaths, neither one able to move. Aranea laid on top of him. Ignis wrinkled his nose. Despite the size of his room and the height of his ceilings, the room reeked of sweat, sex, and nightlife. Carefully, both overstimulated now and responsive to even the smallest of touches and strokes, she lifted herself off of him and rolled over to lay on her back, staring at the ceiling as he gathered the energy to stumble out of bed to the ensuite bathroom, discarding the used condom. Aranea heard the faucet run and soon he was back with a towel to help clean her up.

Once satisfied with their cleanliness—as much as they could be without drunkenly hopping in the shower—he fell back into bed, still stark naked, as Aranea turned on her side. She hummed her delectation, head propped up with one hand as she observed Ignis trying to keep his eyes open.

Ignis held one finger up, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. "Apologies . . . I . . . give me one moment, if you will."

"Aw, what's the matter?" she cooed, goosebumps forming on his skin as her fingers trailed up and down his arms, chest, side . . . anywhere she could reach, really. A shiver shook him to the core and she snorted. "Did I wear you out? That was only round one!"

"Don't flatter yourself," he mumbled, sleep already beginning to settle in. "I just . . . the scotch was stronger than I anticipated. If you weren't such a bad influence— "

"Oh, _I'm_ a bad influence? Who insisted that the server kept the drinks coming? No, sir . . . that's on you."

"You're nefarious, you know that?"

She brushed a strand of his hair, the spiked hairstyle reduced to a flattened mess of what it was earlier in the night, away from his face. "Can't keep up at the bar _or_ the bedroom."

"That's not what you were saying just moments ago. Dare I recreate what just transpired between us?" He had one eye closed, but he regarded Aranea with a devilish grin and the other eye narrowed, the suggestion of mischievousness lighting up his features.

She leaned in close, her lips but millimeters from his ear while she still teased him by dragging her fingers along his bare skin, light and feather-soft. "Maybe next time you could fuck me against those giant windows of yours . . . my tits pressed against the glass, bent over so we both get a great view of the city . . ."

Ignis' face softened as he groaned, imagining the scene that Aranea was going to great lengths to describe. He didn't want to wait . . . no, he wanted to do that right now. Only . . . only . . . he was heavy. Drowsy. It was getting more difficult to move as everything faded away. He was awake, then asleep. One eye would open and Aranea was still there, lulling him to sleep—not that she meant to—with her sweet voice and gentle touch.

"Aranea . . . that sounds . . . could we . . ."

It was the last thing he said; the sentence hung in the air, unfinished, as he drifted off to dreamland, Aranea's smirk the last thing he remembered as she removed his glasses from his face.

* * *

The throbbing of his head lured him from sleep. His throat was thick with sleep and the resulting hangover from too much to drink. It took every bit of energy he could gather to crack open one bleary eye to see what time it was. 4:47 A.M. the bright red digital numbers read out. Gods, he'd have to be up soon anyway to get Noctis ready for the day. Paperwork would need to be sorted through, phones calls to be made, emails to read and respond to . . . why on Eos did he think it was a good idea to indulge Noctis on the eve of the peace talks . . . or, the bigger factor, why did he think it was alright to hang out with that wretched woman from the bar . . .

Upon realization that he'd brought said woman home—Aranea Highwind, he mused, pleased—he sat up and frowned as his hand ran over the side of the bed where she was; or, rather, _should_ be. He remembered her whispering dirty thoughts in his ear as her nails raked carefully over his skin, still sensitive in their post-coital embrace. He fought to keep his eyes opened, but those drinks he had earlier in the night, coupled with Aranea's soothing voice, caught up to him and he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

 _It's too early for this,_ he thought bitterly, leaning over for his glasses on the nightstand. When did he take _those_ off? He didn't remember placing them on the stand; maybe Aranea did?

A pounding headache, insatiable thirst, and scattered memory of the night before; on top of the fact that he was alone in the early hours of the morning made him entirely too cantankerous. With a final grunt, he threw the covers from him and kicked his legs over the side of his bed, the cool air assaulting his nude body. He needed to get showered and ready for the day, even if it meant being an hour ahead of schedule. He'd need all the time he could get, at this point, to blunder through the morning.

Mumbling under his breath, he padded to the kitchen to get a large, cold glass of water and some aspirin before hopping in the shower. There was no point in putting on any underwear right now, knowing it would just come off in a few minutes, anyway. Still, as he passed the dresser, his breathing hitched as the prior night's activities flashed across his mind.

His fingers teasing her.

Her cries for more.

The dresser pounding against the wall as he fucked her.

The memory of it all, albeit hazy and dulled now that he was sober, caused his heart to race and throat to constrict. His cock began to stiffen as he recalled everything, but Ignis finally shook his head and pried himself from the spot where he stood, continuing on to that enticing glass of water he so badly needed.

Clothes— _his_ clothes—were in small piles by the door and in the open living space. Papers were still scattered on the floor where he'd pushed them off the counter, no order to them anymore. Cautious, he stepped over them and chided himself for doing such a stupid thing—he had those papers in a certain order, dammit, and now he'd have to sort through them again to put them back the way he had them.

Finally, in the kitchen and reaching high into the cabinet, his fingers brushed a glass and he nudged it closer so he could grab it. With the glass in his hand, he moved a few steps over to the oversized refrigerator, pressing his cup to the dispenser to receive chilled water. Never had water tasted so wonderful. It was like he'd been trapped in a desert for a hundred years and he'd finally stumbled upon an oasis of cool, refreshing water. He could feel it trickle down inside his chest and he chugged like he'd never had water before. He finished the glass, never pausing to take a breather, then put his cup under the dispenser to receive more. One more glass and he was starting to feel somewhat human again, though it would take far more water and an IV full of Ebony coffee to the veins to fully come back to life.

The drawer beside the refrigerator housed various medicines—some potions, an elixir, and a handful of ibuprofen and aspirin. He took two doses of aspirin and swallowed them with his water, praying that this would take the edge off of his aching head.

A step back, then another, and he was leaning his hip against the countertop when the stains of last night's encounter halted him, caught in the glare of the city's lights before the sun would inevitably begin to rise. Next to the smudged handprints and dried fluids on his otherwise immaculate counters was a scribbled note and a balled-up pair of panties. His curiosity was piqued. Setting the cup he was sipping from aside, Ignis cocked an eyebrow and tentatively reached for the note, making quite the amused face at the underwear so carelessly placed on the surface.

The lights of the city, twinkling and dancing through his windows, did well to brighten the modern space of Ignis' apartment. Holding the piece of paper out in front of him, Ignis felt the corners of his lips turn upward in a smug type of smile.

 _Hey there, handsome,_

 _Thanks for a good time. If you're ever bored and in need of company, give me a call. I enjoyed the challenge in the bedroom._

 _P.S. Here's something to remember me by. Maybe you can use it later for your own fun._

On the bottom of the paper were several numbers—no doubt Aranea's phone number. His eyes flickered from the numbers to the wad of panties still on the counter. The hints of a smirk graced his face and he picked up the underwear and trudged back to his bedroom, knowing that shower would do him good right about now.

He had a long day of peace talks and meetings ahead of him, after all, and this would at least start it off on a good note.

* * *

 **Author's Note: First off, HUGE thanks to DiamondDustOhSnap and Aimakichan for reading this over and helping me out. I'm so incredibly grateful that you guys sat down, read it over, and told me what needed to be fixed. Thank you so much!**

 **Second, I apologize that this is . . . what . . . two days late now? Honestly, it's the first time I delved deep into a more mature scene, so I was slower than I probably should've been.**

 **Third of all! Yes, this is FAR different than my last fic. It is darker, more mature, and** ummm . . **. yeah! If I didn't say it in my last chapter, I will do my best to note in the beginning if something is coming up that could warrant someone's attention!**

 **Anyway, I'm so happy with the reaction of the last chapter and I'm excited to see how it all goes from here :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

Ever the gentleman, Ignis sent a text message to Aranea after double and triple checking the phone number she left. It could've been a dud, a wrong number given to him as a stupid joke for all he knew, but better to be safe than sorry and see to it that she made it back to her own place in one piece.

 **5:24 am I do hope you got home, wherever that is, safe and sound. I would enjoy another night like last night, if you dare think you could handle it.**

Luckily, he was far too busy getting ready for the day to check whether or not she returned his text, assuming she also had other things to do. Or, he reasoned, she was passed out peacefully in her own bed at her hotel room. Either way, as long as she was safe, that was all that mattered.

It was a struggle to make himself presentable that morning, but somehow he managed and soon was on his way to Noctis' apartment after having taken a cab back to the bar to pick up the car they'd left behind. Ignis thanked his lucky stars that he at least had the foresight to drive his own car the night before and not the Regalia, a car bestowed upon Ignis to use only in certain situations by order of King Regis. If he'd driven the Regalia . . . well . . . there's no telling who would've figured out that the prince was out last night, and Ignis was always thinking ahead in terms of where trouble would lie at every possible scenario.

Now, driving from the bar and into morning traffic, Ignis dictated to his phone to call Noctis. He knew that it was a lost cause—calling Noctis on any other day was quite the task; on a morning like this, when they all were probably nursing some wicked headaches and cotton mouth, trying to connect with Noctis would be torture. Climbing the Rock of Ravatough barefoot would be an easier accomplishment than this. It was no surprise that he couldn't get a hold of the prince after several tries, so he resorted to dialing Prompto's cell number. On the second ring, Prompto picked up the call, chipper as ever.

"Yello!" he greeted.

The tone was almost grating to Ignis' ears, but he quelled the annoyance. "Prompto, good to hear you up and well after last night's frivolity," he clipped.

He could practically envision the young man on the other end of the phone waving off the statement. "Yeah, well, a few glasses of water and some meds before bed will do that to you. Besides, I needed to get up early for my run, so I couldn't really afford to get a hangover today."

Ignis bit his tongue at just how upbeat Prompto was when he himself was barely alive right now. Damn him and his ability to bounce back from a night of drinking, he cursed as he turned onto another street. "As it were," he began, completely ignoring Prompto's advice on how to, in the future, avoid a hangover, "I'm on my way over right now. I'm going to need you to wake up Noct and at least attempt to get him moving. We're on a tight schedule and I can assure you that His Majesty will want some words with him before our peace talks this morning."

There was a moment of quiet on the other line and then Prompto groaned. "You _do_ know this is Noct we're talking about, right? I could set his apartment on fire and he'd sleep right through it. You don't really think I can wake him up right now, do you? At this hour? The sun is barely up!"

"Understood, but time is of the essence and I'm going to need every second of this morning to brief him on what to expect."

Prompto grumbled again. "You know he's not going to want to get up. Last night was kinda a blur, but I definitely remember him not feeling too hot before passing out in his room."

"He should've thought about that before challenging you to another drinking contest." Ignis slowed at a stoplight and took the opportunity to drink his Ebony coffee. "Now, if you would, please attempt to rouse him before I get there. I don't have the time, nor do I have the energy, to deal with his morning antics." The light turned green and Ignis slowly accelerated to an acceptable speed, the sun blinding him through the windshield and intensifying his already unbearable headache. "I'll be there shortly. At the very least, please have him sitting up in his bed; should Gladio be in any state to assist, I can have him throw Noct over his shoulder and discard him in the shower."

"Alright, well I'll see what I can do, I guess." The sound of Prompto's nervous chuckle echoed through the phone and with a hasty 'goodbye', the call ended.

Several minutes later, and after an endless barrage of internal screaming at the traffic and people who didn't know how to drive, Ignis parked his car in the apartment's parking structure and slogged to his liege's door. There was no need to knock as the strategist possessed his own set of keys, having come and gone more times than he could ever count through this very door. Doing laundry, dropping off groceries, cooking breakfast or dinner . . . the list of chores as the reason he'd stop by went on and on.

When he entered, the smell of vomit and stale beer assaulted his nose and he visibly grimaced. The apartment was a wreck. There were empty pizza boxes with leftover crust discarded over the living room, crushed cans here and there, several blankets carelessly tossed over the large L-shaped couch, and, on that couch, a very bothered Gladio hunched over with his head hung just over his knees.

Ignis nodded in his direction, stopping to remove his shoes in the entryway. "Is he up?" he asked, but was already sure of the answer.

Gladio grunted, running both hands through his unkempt hair and clasping his fingers behind his neck. "Meh, maybe. I'm still trying to figure out the best way to pray to the gods to save me from this fucking headache."

"The gods are merciless when it comes to self-destruction, Gladio; you know that. If you want to help yourself, water would be a start."

The larger man rolled his eyes and soon got to his feet, ambling his way to the kitchen. As he filled his cup and before Ignis could get to Noctis' bedroom—where Prompto could be heard whining at the prince to _please_ wake up—Gladio raised his glass up just enough to catch Ignis' attention. "Where did you go last night? I vaguely remember some girl in our van as you kicked us out—"

"I did not kick you out," he retorted, halted in place by Gladio's words. "I walked you three up here before leaving you alone to do whatever it was you decided to do."

"Semantics. You rushed to get us out of your hair so you could get back to that taxi."

Ignis glowered, not quite remembering that scenario in the same light as Gladio was retelling it, but maybe he had been a little too enthusiastic to get Aranea back home; almost embarrassingly so. "I made sure you lot returned here in one piece. What I chose to do after that is none of your concern."

"That chick you were with was giving you the most obvious 'fuck me' eyes if I've ever seen any." He motioned to the wreck of a living space. "I can only imagine your night was a helluva lot better than ours was."

Ignis shrugged and gave a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Perhaps. But this morning we have work to do and we're already falling behind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a prince to wake and we all know _that_ is damn near impossible."

"If you didn't coddle him, that wouldn't be an issue."

"In time, Gladio. For now, I prefer to stick to my own methods in dealing with his Highness. They haven't failed me thus far."

Both men smiled, haggard and weary, as Ignis set his sights on dragging Noctis out of bed.

* * *

It took five minutes of soothing talk, followed by another five minutes of stern jostling before Noctis even sat up. Prompto, supportive as he was, only served to get in the way with his overly cheerful self and Ignis had to finally banish him to the living room (plus, he wasn't doing Ignis' hangover any favors).

"Up up up, Highness. We mustn't dawdle. Your father will be expecting us within the hour and we still need to go over our notes for the peace talks today."

Noctis grumbled and almost laid back down, but Ignis caught him right before his head hit the pillow and half-yanked, half-eased him back up. "Fuck you, Ignis."

"Language, Noct. Don't put the blame on me for your indiscretions. You made your bed, now you must lie in it."

"Exactly, so that means I get like . . . another few minutes of sleep."

Ignis sighed, rising to his feet and walking to the window, throwing the curtains back to let in the morning rays of the sun. "That, unfortunately, is not how it works. Come now, get out of bed this instant, lest you want me to bring Gladio in here to force your hand at hopping in that shower?"

The prince, eyes just slits, grudgingly got out of bed, unamused at the threat thrown his way. Ignis flashed a triumphant smirk and crossed his arms as Noctis passed in front of him, cursing under his breath.

While Noctis showered and readied himself for the day, Ignis took to making a substantial breakfast for the four of them, reasoning that it would be downright cruel to send Noctis into his first big congregation as the future king of Insomnia without at least feeding him. Plus, it could only help rid the vicious after-effects of having had too much to drink.

Over breakfast, once Noctis was cleaned and dressed appropriately, Prompto and Gladio ate their food quietly while Ignis laid out a myriad of notes and exhibits. He sipped his third cup of coffee and listened as Noctis recited back various facts, never answering his questions outright but more so leading him to the diplomatic response he'd be expected to give.

They continued their review in the car, leaving the other two men behind to lounge around the apartment. Every so often, Ignis would cut a glance over to Noctis in the passenger seat, beginning to sense the dread he was feeling. "Noct, we've prepared for this for quite some time. I have faith that you'll do well in this. Your father and Clarus will be there, and I as well. We won't let you flounder on your own, understood?"

The young man's hands were shaking and he looked ready to vomit, though whether that was because of how ill he felt or because of his nerves, Ignis was unsure. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, hands at ten and two, and pursed his lips. They spent the rest of the ride to the Citadel in strained silence, only broken when they pulled up to the Citadel gates and greeted the Kingsglaive soldier on duty. Ignis parked the car and started to get out, but Noctis reached over and held his forearm in a death-grip.

"Specs," he whispered, "I can't do this. What if I fuck it up? What if they don't agree to the terms you and my father have come up with? Gods, I don't want to be the reason we go to war."

Ignis brought his leg back into the car and shut the door, sighing. He pried his charge's fingers from his arm but held his hand in an act of support. "Whether we go to war or not will have no bearing on your ability to lead this city—this country—with grace and dignity. The terms and conditions were not come to easily and His Majesty and I spoke at length for _hours_ on these stipulations. I can guarantee you that, should this peace talk falter, it will not be because you did anything wrong. Niflheim is a ruthless country; one that takes great pride in strength and power. So, I assure you, all of _this_?" He motioned abstractedly. "All of what we've studied? It hasn't been for naught. Whatever the outcome, rest assured you did your best. I know that, your father knows that, and the citizens of Insomnia will know that, too."

Noctis gulped, some color returning to his cheeks. He gave a curt nod and opened his door to get out of the car. When Ignis was sure he wasn't looking, he closed his eyes and prayed to the gods—though, if he had to admit it, he didn't believe they ever really listened to anyone's prayers.

If they did, Ignis snorted, they'd have found a way to end this standoff between the countries long ago.

Walking through the Citadel, their shoes clicking on the marble floor, the halls were unusually quiet as the normal hustle and bustle had been muted with the air of foreboding. As they entered the large chambers where they were to have the discourse, King Regis, along with Clarus Amicitia, the King's Sworn Shield and Gladio's father, stood up and gave a warm, inviting smile. "My son, it's about time you arrived. I regret to admit my faith was beginning to wane," he said, his tone not condescending, but more light and caring.

"Apologies, Majesty," Ignis spoke for Noctis, bowing with his left fist over his chest. "The traffic was horrific, as I'm sure you understand at this hour."

"Indeed. I trust you've caught my son up on the peace talks and what may be to come?"

A deeper bow, eyes closing in the process. "Yes, your Majesty. We've spent countless hours over this. I have no doubt that his Highness will fare well with what's to come."

Regis nodded and Ignis noted the half-smile coming from Noctis. Even incredibly hungover and wrought with nerves, he still had it in him to thank Ignis in his own little way without Regis or Clarus knowing.

Clarus cleared his throat to grab everyone's attention. "I assume my son was with you two and that blonde fellow last night? He didn't come home and I was beginning to worry."

Before Noctis could excuse his own Shield, Ignis stepped in. "Yes, Lord Shield. He was with us last night and I saw to it that he got back safely to his Highness' flat. He looked well this morning," he pardoned, staying away from the more sordid details of their evening. What good would it do to tell Clarus, or Regis for that matter, how drunk they were last night?

Besides, he'd learned, after covering for Noctis' many late-night excursions out of the Citadel over the years, that some things were best left to secret. Ignis wasn't in any sort of mood to sit through a stern lecture on proper etiquette while in public

"No calls, no texts," he huffed with a sense playfulness. "At least my daughter knows to let me know of her plans. Gladiolus is due to give me a heart attack before I reach retirement. And here I was thinking you would do that for me," Clarus joked, turning to Regis and nodding in his direction.

"Well, you know how our boys can be, Clarus. You can't blame them, as we were the same way at that age. Always getting into trouble and whatnot." Regis returned his awareness to the two younger boys in front of him, gesturing to two empty seats to the left of the table. "Our guests of honor should be arriving shortly. I feel it best for us to take a seat and wait for the announcement of their arrival."

"Yes, sir," both Ignis and Noctis chorused, another low bow before taking their respective chairs at the table. In the meantime, while Clarus and Regis spoke quietly at the head of the table about _whatever_ it was they were talking about, Ignis ran down the list of things he felt were most important to bring to Noctis' attention.

"You must keep calm," he insisted, pushing another piece of paper in the prince's direction. It had other facts and information on the Niflheim Empire. "This will get tense and it may get messy. The Empire will see your emotions as a sign of weakness, so do try to remain tolerant at best."

Noctis rested his forehead in the space between his thumb and pointer finger, groaning in despair. "I don't get why my father can't do this. I'm still so far off from taking over this damn country. This is stupid."

"Because, _Highness_ ," Ignis emphasized the title, "sooner or later you will need to step up and take your rightful place as king. What better time to start than now?"

Peering at him from the corner of his eyes, fearful, Noctis frowned. "You promise you got my back? No matter what?"

Ignis softened and gave a tiny, elusive grin. "Always."

They were forced to stop their review at that moment. "Gentleman of the Royal Court," the Royal Herald said, quieting the four others in the room. "Our esteemed guests from Niflheim are awaiting the indication that they may enter the chambers."

Regis straightened in his seat, a stiff hand raised to call them in. "They may proceed."

"Very well." The Herald bowed and, on Regis' authorization, he pulled the knob of the door to allow the visitors to come forth. "It is with great pleasure that I introduce to the Royal Court Emperor Iledolas Aldercapt and Commodore Aranea Highwind."

Ignis' face paled as he rose to his feet, his head reeling at the name. The name of someone he became _very_ acquainted with.

 _No. There must be a mistake._

Aranea Highwind.

Of course.

 _Commodore_ Aranea Highwind of the Niflheim Army.

His legs nearly gave out from under him and a million thoughts ran through his head. The fact that he couldn't recall who she was last night when they introduced each other caused him to feel embarrassed and rather angry with himself. He'd studied the Niflheim army and everything about them for the last several months. Of _course,_ her name was familiar; she was a high-ranking official for the enemy.

Noctis must have caught on to Ignis' horrified look. "Specs? You ok?" he whispered, but Ignis didn't respond. As she entered the room, there was a pause in her steps when she recognized Ignis, standing sheet-white and wide-eyed.

His heart picked up in pace. _No, no, no . . . gods, what have I done to deserve this cruel irony?_

Iledolas Aldercapt and Aranea marched in line to the table, standing beside the chairs they would occupy. As luck would have it, Aranea was to be seated directly across from Ignis.

Just great.

Handshakes were exchanged, but Ignis was still too stunned to even lift a finger. It wasn't until he felt the sharp jab of Noctis' bony elbow to his side that he brought his hand out to meet Aranea's, trying to match her firm grip. The blood in his veins ran cold and that splitting headache came back with a vengeance.

On the Herald's cue, they all took a seat. Ignis couldn't take his eyes off the woman, sitting across from him as if he hadn't just fucked her senseless barely twelve hours earlier. She _had_ to recognize him—the lurch in her steps upon entering told him as much; but she recovered quickly and hardly showed any signs of knowing him now.

How could she look so damn cool while he struggled to breathe?

Astrals, he really fucked up.

"Specs, _what are you doing_?" Noctis hissed in Ignis' ear. Ignis realized he was still gaping at Aranea and not at all paying attention to the meeting that had already begun. "Can you _focus_?"

"Apologies, Highness. I . . . well . . . I don't know what's come over me," he whispered back.

"Well, figure it out later, would you? I kinda need you right now."

"Yes, Highness. You're right," he complied, grabbing a pen and his notebook to take notes as the meeting commenced.

"Thank you for coming all this way to meet with us, Emperor Aldercapt. What a far trip you've traveled, and I hope you've found our city to be fairly accommodating?"

Iledolas smirked. "Indeed, it has, but I did not come here for pleasantries. I am a man whose patience has worn thin these years. Let us get to business, if you wouldn't mind."

Clarus and Regis exchanged subtle eyerolls. "Very well. I trust then that you know why we're all here today?" Regis started. When neither Iledolas, nor Aranea, responded to his rhetorical question, the king continued. "It came to my attention that you had one of my men in your possession. Until recently, I was under the impression that we would work through this terse standoff without the use of Prisoners of War. Apparently, I was mistaken."

Iledolas could never look innocent if he tried, his face always pinched and his features sharp and angry. Still, he tried to pretend he had no idea what the king was talking about. "Now, Regis, let's not point fingers at who is right and who is wrong. You say Prisoner of War; I say a pawn to get what I so eagerly desire."

No one said anything at first. Ignis happened to look over at Clarus, Regis, and finally Noctis. The king and his Shield were focused on Noctis now, waiting for him to take the reins. With a nudge of his arm, Ignis pushed for Noctis to begin. The bump startled the prince and he shuffled papers to find his starting point. "Oh . . . ah, yeah. Um . . . so . . . yeah. It . . . erm, it looks like you want to talk about . . . " he pulled a piece of paper over to him, trembling. "Um . . . we want to put an end to this tension between our countries."

Iledolas and Aranea raised one eyebrow in tandem, realizing they were dealing with Noctis and not Regis. It looked to throw the emperor for a loop, but he salvaged his poise. "That is correct."

There were more shuffling of papers and the quick back and forth of his eyes from Regis to Ignis as Noctis tried desperately to figure out where to go from here. "Yeah . . . so . . . we want to um . . . can we . . . ah shit, no . . . " he mumbled, moving more papers around. Ignis leaned forward and placed a hand on Noctis' shoulder, while also pointing to an important point on one of the papers. "Oh, uh . . . thanks, Iggy. Yeah, so, we'd like to offer you a piece of our country as a sign of peace. We don't want to fight anymore."

Aranea snorted. "Thanks, kid, but we didn't come all the way here for your shitty chunk of—"

"Commodore, that is not your decision to make," the emperor jutted in, cutting her off. "Let's let the child speak before we make such brash decisions."

"I'm not a child." Noctis' eyebrows furrowed.

Ignis pushed the same piece of paper closer to the edge of the table, a warning to get a hold of himself before he lashed out. "As you were saying, _Highness_."

The Prince growled but continued. "We empathize with the plight of your country struggling for food and fertile grounds for some time now. Though we don't have any . . . um . . . fertile ground . . . we'd like to offer you our-"

Iledolas snickered. "Regis, before your son goes any further, I must ask . . . is this really the best you could come up with? Giving us your spare piece of land when all we want is a portion of that Crystal you hold so dear? I didn't take you for a fool, my good man."

Regis mulled this over, steepling his fingers. Clarus tensed up, preparing to protect his king. "You understand why it's not possible for us to relinquish any sort of control over the Crystal, do you not?"

"Oh, I think it is _you_ that does not understand," he retorted. "You and your country live in the lap of luxury, while my citizens die. You feast like kings, dress in the finest, live in the tallest of skyscrapers, and yet you deign to believe you know what it is your people deal with on a day to day basis. We do not wish for your sliver of land so you can sleep better at night. No, my friend, we want the Crystal. We, too, want to have a chance at a growing and thriving country. We want to use the Crystal to build up our country, the same way you did with your precious Lucis. Unless . . ." Iledolas lowered his head to look at Regis, then Ignis, and finally Noctis, out of the tops of his eyes, "You'd rather another one of your men meet the same fate the last one did?"

That lit a spark in Noctis' eyes. "Don't you dare!"

Ignis caught a flicker of . . . what was it . . . remorse? Regret? _Something_ in Aranea's expression and body language told Ignis that she was involved with this debacle. She shifted and only looked concerned for a brief moment before she went back to her cold demeanor—a woman who needed to let the chambers know that she was no one to be messed with.

"Oh, my boy, but I _do_ dare." The Emperor stroked his long beard, undeterred. "Truly, a shame. To hear the cries of that Glaive, begging for mercy as the life left his eyes. The screams that left his mouth, the sheer willpower before he finally—"

"Stop! Stop it! Shut up!" Noctis was standing, his palms flat on the surface of the table. His outburst surprised everyone.

Everyone, that was, except Aranea. She blinked, but there was no sign of amusement in her face or tone. Ignis almost thought she was warning Noctis, not taunting him. "This is what war is, sweetheart. Time to buck up and get over it if you really want to take over this country when daddy dearest over there decides to step down Shit isn't fair and lives are sacrificed."

"He was _not_ a sacrifice, you stupid, evil, spineless—"

"Noctis, that is enough!" Regis reprimanded from the end of the table.

Aranea leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms and letting a subtle smirk grace her lips. "Temper, temper," she tutted. When Ignis cut a glance in Noctis' direction, he felt the rising panic at seeing his prince's face grow redder, allowing her to see him crumble under pressure.

"Highness, sit down _right now_ and _get yourself together_ ," he hissed, looking just passed him to Regis who now had his forearms resting on the large table before them, his hands interlocked. When Regis nodded, Ignis leaned into Noctis' ear and whispered, "This is not the time to let emotions cloud your judgment and your words."

Noctis grit his teeth. "They took our Glaive, Ignis. They took him and she doesn't look the least bit fazed by it. How can I _not_ let my emotions get to me?"

Ignis knew people. He could read them better than they could read themselves. When he looked across the table at Aranea, he did not see a woman who appeared unfazed. On the surface, yes; under that, he caught traces of discomfort and fleeting seconds of fright. She was involved in this matter and it wasn't something that sat right with her.

"Is this a bad time?" Iledolas crooned, sarcasm laced in his words. "If I knew we were bargaining peace with a _child_ , I would've thought twice before stepping foot in this city."

Regis held his hand up to signal for silence. "It's a shame that you feel that my son is not worthy of your time, but I assure you he is as much a leader as I."

"Be that as it may, my terms have been laid on the table for you. Take them or leave them. I don't have time for this juvenile nonsense. You do understand that I have an Empire to run, after all."

Clarus was stone-faced, but Regis shook his head and sighed. "Emperor Aldercapt, I am not about to relinquish control of our Crystal, passed down through my lineage from the very gods that created this world."

It was like watching a tennis match at this point; Ignis' eyes darting back and forth from the king, to Iledolas, landing back to Noctis, before settling themselves on Aranea. With a sober mind and clear conviction, Ignis studied her face and her intimidating beauty. Then, he started to wonder . . . why didn't she just _tell_ him she was from Niflheim? Why did she lie? She wasn't from a small town in Lucis . . . then again, Ignis wasn't the most forthcoming with his own life either.

The loud scraping of chairs on the floor jarred Ignis back to the situation at hand, pulling him back from his personal problems, and now Iledolas and Aranea were standing. "It seems we are done here, King Regis. I appreciate the hospitality, but we have reached an impasse in our potential treaty."

"Indeed, we have. It's unfortunate we can't come to some sort of agreement, for the sake of our countries."

Iledolas gave a cold and calculating sneer, sending chills down Ignis' spine. "Well, you'd do well to remember just what brought us here and what my men-my army-are capable of. I will stop at nothing for the power of that Crystal." His eyes traced over to Noctis and he raised his chin. "Nothing."

With the simple gesture of his hand, he glided away, the aura of elegance following him. Aranea looked to the four men and sarcastically bowed. "Thank you _so_ much for the opportunity, gentleman," she said before following Iledolas out the door.

As they passed the threshold, the giant door loudly closed behind them, leaving everyone in silence. No one knew what to say, what to do, or even where to begin. Noctis was the first to break the silence. "Dad . . . I'm . . . shit-"

"Noctis, not another word from you. This was not anything you could've prevented. It's clear that Emperor Aldercapt had his mind made up before he came into these chambers," he reassured, but it sounded tired. Weary. Sad. "Although, you could learn to control your temper next time. That, my son, was uncalled for." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking defeated. "You two may leave. We'll reconvene at a later date to discuss where to go from here."

Noctis opened his mouth to speak, a soul-crushing expression on his face. He was stopped from speaking when Ignis rested a hand on his shoulder, nudging him away. Almost an afterthought, Ignis bowed to the king, mumbling, "Excuse us," under his breath. A nod from Clarus and a labored smile from Regis was all he would receive as he ushered Noctis out of the chambers.

The Herald held the door open for them and Ignis uttered a thanks, sliding by while keeping a hand on Noctis' upper back. When the door closed again, Noctis shrugged off his hand. "We're going to war, aren't we? Fuck, Specs . . . this is all my fault."

"As your father said, there was nothing you could've done to change this. Learning some restraint could be useful, but I have great reservations that would've done much in our favor. For now, we wait." Ignis exhaled loudly to the ceiling. "I'll have to meet with his Majesty to strategize our next move, but for—" Ignis stopped when, just down the hall, he saw the back of Aranea, Iledolas several steps ahead. "Highness, if you'll excuse me for just one moment. Something suddenly came up."

"Woah, hey! Wait! Specs?"

He wasn't sure what got into him or why he felt the need to run after her, but he broke into a brisk walk, bordering on jogging, his long legs helping to cover more ground. Somewhere behind him, Noctis asked where he was going, but the shouts fell on deaf ears.

The pair took a right down another hallway and Ignis turned right as well. He could almost make out Iledolas ranting to Aranea, but because he was facing forward, his voice didn't carry well to Ignis still trailing behind. Finally, with silent stealth, he caught up to Aranea and clutched her elbow. She turned around, ready to put up a fight, but froze as Ignis lifted a finger to his lips.

Looking around, he pulled her, maybe a little too harshly, behind a large marble pillar. Iledolas strolled away, none the wiser. "When, pray tell, were you going to tell me you're the Commodore for the Niflheim Empire?" Ignis demanded, crossing his arms. "Quite a large bit of information to leave out about yourself, would you agree?"

She jutted her hip out, scoffing. "Me? What about you? Imagine _my_ surprise when I walked in and saw you sitting there with the fucking _prince_ and _king_. What _are_ you, anyway?"

It's not like he could lie anymore. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Insomnia's Royal Strategist, as well as the Advisor to the Prince."

"Huh, fancy title and everything. No wonder you could afford that swanky ass place of yours. I knew a teacher's pay wouldn't cover even a quarter of the rent for that."

"Well, had I known that you were with the Empire, I would've thought twice before bringing you back to my flat." His eyes flickered back and forth. The next words were a surprise, even to him. "Where did you even go this morning, anyway? Did you leave because you had to ready yourself for this meeting?"

She hummed before answering. "Perhaps . . ."

Ignis rubbed the back of his neck. Why was he even having this conversation? Why did he even care at all, especially now, whether she'd stayed or left this morning? The words, though, kept falling from his mouth. He was a little hurt, but he couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was that struck him. "You could've at least woken me, Aranea. It's not like I take women home on a nightly basis."

"Well, fuck, Ignis; what did you expect? Cuddles? Breakfast in bed? It was fun, but we both knew I wouldn't stay the night . . . though, I will say . . . " she faded off, dragging the tip of her pointer finger down the middle of his chest, over his stomach, and tugging just the tiniest bit at the waistline of his pants. " . . . I meant what I said in my note. You calling me if you wanted to get together? Sneaking around can be pretty fucking hot, you know."

He swatted her hand away, disgusted, clarity restored in his mind for a fraction of a second. "Absolutely not. What happened last night was a one-time thing."

Emboldened by his adverse reaction, Aranea took a half-step toward him, causing him to back up. Another, then another, and soon his back was against the wall with nowhere to run. "What turned you off, hmm? My lips on that cock of yours? Watching me in that dresser mirror as you fucked me? Come on, don't get all bashful on me now. Don't act like you wouldn't want to do it again."

He towered over her and looked to have all the confidence in the world, but with her, things were different. Gulping as she entered his personal space, he tried to maintain eye contact with her to show he wasn't feeling the least bit vulnerable, but she was right. In fact, he spent some extra time in the shower that morning, after finding her panties next to that note on his kitchen counter, thinking about her, moaning her name again and again under the hot and steady stream of water as he came to visions of their night.

Ignis wasn't sure if he made a low noise, if his face wavered, or maybe it was both, but Aranea's chuckle snapped him back to behind that pillar. "That's what I thought," she whispered, sneering. "Deny it all you want, but we both know how much fun we had last night. Also, I never would've pegged you for a vocal one in the bedroom. Very hot, you know. I'd like to hear my name moaned like that again from you."

Tugging at his collar, desperate for air and maybe a splash of cold water to the face, he swallowed again. "That . . . This can't happen. We . . . No."

Aranea reached behind her, pulled her cell phone from the back pocket of her pants, and waved it in Ignis' face. "So, you mean to tell me if I responded to that lovely morning after text you sent me this morning, you would pretend to ignore it?"

"Aranea . . . _Commodore_ . . . " he was downright pleading with her. "I ask that you refrain from contacting me. My allegiance is with the Crown City. It would be the lowest form of betrayal to knowingly sleep with—"

"Specs?! Hey, Specs! Where'd you go?" Noctis' voice echoed down the halls, closer and closer to where they were. Aranea raised an eyebrow and stepped back, tucking her phone back into her pocket and Ignis realized how uneven his breathing was now.

"I'll let you get back to your _student_ , Ignis . . . But I'm sure we'll keep in touch."

With a wink and a sneer, Aranea brushed by him, disappearing down the hall and away from Noctis before he could see her. When Ignis came around the front of the pillar, Noctis rounded the corner from the main hall. "There you are! Fuck, I was wondering where you went! Why'd you take off so quick?"

Ignis looked over his shoulder, not a trace of Aranea anywhere around, but their encounter left him feeling anxious. "I . . . I apologize, Noct. There was a . . . I was under the impression that one of the royal officials beckoned for me down the hall, but I've been mistaken."

Noctis wrinkled his nose. "Um . . . ok? Who?"

"Oh . . . err . . . that one official. The Secretary of Defense? I thought they had paperwork for me regarding what's to come."

The prince narrowed his eyes. "Interesting . . . but whatever. I'm just ready to go home if you are."

Ignis, grateful that Noctis was willing to let the out-of-character act on Ignis' part go, smiled. "It's been a long morning, has it not?"

He shrugged and started to fall in line with Ignis' steps as they walked again. "Yeah, kinda."

He hated lying to Noctis, but right now he didn't think he had a choice. Several times as they made their way down the halls of the Citadel, Ignis felt goosebumps run up and down his arms.

Somehow, he _knew_ this wasn't the last time he'd see or hear from Aranea Highwind.

The thought was terrifying.

And dangerously thrilling.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Whoops, my bad that I missed my deadline last week. I won't lie, I let life get in the way (and that AC DLC kept me pretty damn occupied) and I was intimidated to get this chapter going. But I stuck it out and here we are this week!**

 **I'll be at the Distant Worlds concert this Sunday so I won't promise an update this week, but next week for sure!**

 **Don't forget to drop me a review and let me know how you like it!**


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

 _"Please, I don't know anything. I—AHHHHHH. NO, STOP. PLEASE, LET ME GO."_

 _"You're being too soft on him. He's not going to talk unless you take drastic measures."_

 _"Astrals, have mercy! I don't . . . oh, dear gods, please let me go . . . please . . . —AHHHHHH!"_

 _"If he doesn't start talking soon, we will have to dispose of him."_

 _"I have a family! I have a wife and two kids at home! I need to get—NOOOOO!"_

 _"Commodore, you have thirty seconds to decide whether or not you're up to the task. You brought him back here, so you must follow through with your mission."_

 _"Please. Please, I'm begging you . . . let me go. I know nothing, I swear it!"_

 _"Commodore!"_

 _"PLEASE. PLEASE DON'T."_

 _"No? Then get out of my face, Commodore. Bring in someone else who is far more capable of extracting information from our prisoner . . . or at least someone who can get rid of him. My patience has worn thin."_

 _"No . . . no . . . NOOOOOOOO!"_

Aranea jerked awake, the calming bell-sound a sign that her stop was approaching. The Emperor used his private airship to get back to the palace, leaving Aranea and her men to fend for themselves. Biggs and Wedge lived several stops away, so they got off much earlier and Aranea used the solitude to take a nap.

What a mistake that was.

The last two days passed in a hazy blur, much like the scenery had outside the train window that afternoon. Aranea hadn't even a chance to really ponder over what'd happened in Insomnia, both in her work life as well as her personal life. Aldercapt spent much of the remainder of their visit and trip home cursing the Caelum family, their lack of sympathy for those outside the Wall of Lucis, and concluded that there _must_ be a way for Niflheim to steal that Crystal. Aranea tried to ignore the gleam in his eyes as he mulled one violent thought after another in his twisted mind, planning some sick and twisted way to . . . no, she didn't want to think that. She didn't want to deal with another one of his games, should they get their hands on a Glaive . . .

Or worse.

She shuddered. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribcage and the shrieking and howling in her dreams left her haunted. Looking down, she noticed her hands were shaking uncontrollably; balling them into fists did little to stop that. In an attempt to settle down, Aranea inhaled sharply, then exhaled while counting slowly. Again. Again.

 _Just keep breathing_. _Everything's ok._

It was a technique her therapist—mandated to her by the government after her failed mission—tried to teach her to calm her nerves when things got rough. How thoughtful, she said bitterly in her head. The Empire tried to pretend that they were all about their fighters, but Aranea knew it was a façade. Show some compassion, feign some sympathy, throw a few therapists at the soldiers from time to time and everyone will pretend that everything is ok. The fighters will continue to combat blindly for their nation, a demonstration of patriotism for their country, until they either died in the line of duty or went mad from all they'd seen. Admittedly, it was a great show put on by the government, but Aranea saw right through it.

Besides, it was only a matter of time before the army was full of Magitek drones, ready to take over where thinking, living, breathing humans could no more. And when that day came . . . well, it wasn't something Aranea was looking forward to.

Today, on the train, there was no one around her, having chosen the seat furthest in the back. Normally, she would've splurged and paid for a private roomette, but her gil was spent and she appreciated the company, though sparse and more gathered in the front of the car, that coach had to offer right now.

The scenery changed from a deserted, winter wasteland to a bustling industrial city, dark and ominous on the horizon. Gralea. It was the place Aranea had called home for her late teens and her entire twenties, ever since leaving the small town she'd grown up in to pursue a life in the military. Doing so afforded her the luxury of travel, to see the world, and the autonomy from her parents that she so desperately craved.

" _Now approaching the stop for Gralea, with transfers to Operosia and Zegnatus. Please, watch your step ensure you have all your belongings before leaving._ "

Aranea obeyed, heaving her duffle bag over her shoulder and making her way to the doors as they slid open. The smells of gasoline, coal, sulfur, and machinery hit her and gave Aranea the feeling of home, awash with relief in returning to familiar territory. Even though Insomnia was just as big of a city as Gralea was, it was still vastly different and made Aranea feel like an outsider.

But here . . . here she could navigate Gralea and the side roads blindfolded. Through the turnstiles, down the stairs, and out into the busy streets of the city. A shortcut here, an alley there. Jump over the pothole, carefully move out of the way for a group of burly men who pushed and shoved each other, unaware they were taking up the entire sidewalk. All of it was second-nature.

At one point on her walk home, a beggar sat cross-legged by a dingy weaponry store and Aranea dug into her pocket for whatever spare change she had left—it wasn't much, but the man was beyond grateful. It was something she always said she'd do if she could—never pass up an opportunity to help someone less fortunate than her as that nearly was her life before she ever established herself as a powerful Commodore.

Another few turns here and there and Aranea was walking up the stoop to the door of her apartment building. It was a brick building, sturdy but worn like it had seen better days. Traffic was loud with a freeway curving just around the block, a cat wailed in the distance, but it was close to work and it was the first place Aranea could call her own, having used the money she scrounged up with her first few paychecks upon entering the Niflheim military.

She'd sustained herself on ramen and grilled cheese sandwiches for the longest time, slept on a mattress with no bedframe and a few covers, and tried to use the smallest amount of utilities that she possibly could. Her idea of decorating involved lining up empty liquor and wine bottles atop the cabinets and entertaining herself meant completing several Sudoku puzzles or rereading a page or two of a trashy romance novel after work, before passing out for the night and waking up at the crack of dawn to do it all over again. Then, when she finally could afford something better after making rank, something more habitable and worthy, she found she'd grown attached to the shithole and didn't want to leave. No, this place had everything she needed and she loved it.

As she came on her door, dragging her feet and her duffle bag several floors up, an imposing figure stood nearby, leaned against the wall. A surge of panic and anger coursed through her as she recognized him; she didn't need to go any further to know that it was the same man she'd sworn to leave behind before she departed to Insomnia. She almost turned around and walked away, but the man gave her a leering smile, pulling a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. "There you are, my love. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me," he joked.

Aranea rolled her eyes and grudgingly kept on to her apartment door. "What the hell do you want, Ardyn? Surely, you're smart enough to know when you're not wanted, especially after I ignored your calls and texts while away."

The aubergine-haired man, dressed in wildly beautiful, billowing clothes, tutted as he stepped away from the wall. "Goodness gracious, is that how you greet the man who you've called 'yours' for so many years? With such an augmentative tone . . . Oh, don't be so hostile! I've come to make peace! I bring these flowers in goodwill and this is how you treat me? You're breaking my poor, aching heart."

Aranea narrowed her eyes. "Spare me. If I was breaking your heart, that would mean you have a heart at all to begin with . . . and we all know you're lacking that vital organ." She pushed him aside, shifting her bag to her other side as she fished for her keys, finding the right one and jamming it into the lock. With the door opened now, Aranea glowered but kept the door open as a sign for Ardyn to follow. She busied herself by turning on some lights, throwing the duffle bag into her bedroom, and opening the window to allow for some airflow through the apartment. Street noise filtered in and it kept the awkwardness and tense atmosphere between the two at bay, if only for a moment.

Ardyn moved about, familiar with the place as he grabbed a small vase from the cabinet to place the flowers in. "I even got you your favorites," he said. "See? Orchids!"

Aranea crossed her arms, leaning against the living room wall. "I hate orchids. My favorite flower is the amaryllis. Figured after what, five years? You'd get that by now."

He fluffed the flowers, pouring water into the vase. "Ah, but it's the thought that counts."

"Ha, ok. Whatever you say." She tapped her foot impatiently while he continued to make a show of perfecting the flowers. The clock on the wall ticked so loud that Aranea would've bet money that it could be heard throughout the entire city . . . hell, throughout all of Niflheim. With every passing minute and every agonizing second that Ardyn took his time with those damn flowers, Aranea's pulse hastened. Her blood boiled and she dug her nails into her crossed arms. At her wit's end, she finally threw her hands in the air and yelled, "Are you done?! If you are, you can go. I really don't care to see your face or hear your voice right now."

He sighed dramatically. "Kicking me out, so soon? You just invited me in!"

"No, I left the door open; there was no 'invitation'."

He was smug. Arrogant. Her cheeks heated, agitated with every second that Ardyn stayed in the kitchen with that ridiculous, complacent face of his. She thought he wouldn't say anything, resolved to quiet, and her legs just began to twitch, ready to move to the door to kick him out when he surprised her. "I hear the Emperor has called for a meeting to discuss strategy. From what I've been told, the treaty talks were a fiasco."

Aranea froze in place. It was the last thing she wanted to discuss with him. As Aldercapt's own advisor, Ardyn was the first to receive all intel when it came to politics. Aranea turned her head and flinched when she met Ardyn's eyes. How long had he been staring at her?

"I mean," she muttered, still frozen in place, "they weren't the most successful, no. Honestly, are you surprised, though?"

He tilted his head to the side. "It's a shame, but I warned the Emperor this would be the outcome." Ardyn clicked his tongue, his next words coated with sarcasm and dark humor. "Despite the loss of their Glaive, they still hold tight to that Crystal. What a pity."

Mentioning the Glaive made Aranea's stomach turn and she averted her eyes back to the ground, leaning back again on the wall and relying on it to hold her up as the room spun around her. His screams. The agony. That pleading look in his eyes that Aranea couldn't tear herself away from. She re-crossed her arms and kicked the toe of her boot on the floor. "The Glaive . . . that mission—"

"You still blame me for that," Ardyn stated, matter-of-fact.

Again, Aranea found herself looking back up. She was sure Ardyn could see how defeated she looked, how fragile she felt. "Yeah," she croaked. "I do, and you didn't do anything to save me in front of council. You sat there on the board while I attempted to convince his Excellency of my competency. You told me leading that brigade and taking out those Glaives would be beneficial to my career. Instead, all its done has turned me into . . . into a . . ." She trailed off, not even sure how to finish that sentence, or if she even wanted to. There were so many things she could've said to end that statement, though. A coward? A joke? Incompetent? The laughingstock of the army?

Ardyn chuckled. "Ah. You think so little of me to assume I didn't assure your position as safe? Darling, you would be good as gone if it weren't for the weight of my words. The Emperor was all but ready to strip you of your rank, what with your insubordination and your inability to complete the commands asked of you." He paused, letting that settle in before he finished with, "Were you even aware that it was I that volunteered to finish what you started, in exchange that you at least be given the opportunity to explain why you should remain with the Empire?"

The knot in her stomach tightened more. "You? It was you that . . ." She swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. "That doesn't make me feel better, you know. That Glaive . . . torturing him? He didn't deserve that. No one does. I'm not . . . I'm not weak . . . I could've . . ." No amount of justification in her mind would absolve what had happened, no matter who was the one who ended his life.

She was just as vile as the rest of them.

"Are you so naïve to think that all those men and women you've slain over the years were nameless faces? This is war, Aranea. This is what you signed up for when you took the role of Commodore. It's not all about prestige and tenure. Now, if you are unable to handle the responsibilities—"

"I . . . fuck, Ardyn. I know that, ok? I know it's not just fun and games and flashy-ass weapons . . . but I didn't . . . I don't want to . . . "

Her thoughts jumbled and soon she was remembering her cautionary retort to Noctis during their peace discussions. When she said those words to the prince, warning him that ' _this is war_ ', she hadn't expected them to be used on her as well. The words were acrimonious. How fucking condescending. Of _course,_ it was war. Of _course,_ it was grueling, despicable, and traumatic. Was that supposed to make everything about it easier to deal with?

Maybe she had been dumb and naïve to think accepting the role and all the trials and tribulations of Commodore would be easy. As a Commodore, a leader, she was the one that had to make the final calls when shit hit the fan. She had to be that person who looked someone in the eyes as they begged for their lives while she remained cold and stoic. At least when she was a lowly soldier, she could lay her head on her pillow at night and pretend that the casualties on enemy lines meant nothing. That they were at the time, as Ardyn said, nameless faces.

And they were. As a soldier, they didn't tell her they had families. They weren't so near in proximity that she could see that scar they got on their chin as a child. They didn't have stubble from having not shaved the last few days after being in the field and away from home. No, as a soldier, she was happy to distance herself, both physically and mentally, hide behind a rock or an old building, point her gun—back before she really found the thrill of using a lance—and shoot. Mission accomplished, time to go home.

Ardyn's outfit made the faintest of _whooshing_ sounds as he crossed from behind the counter, through the small living room and within inches of her, still leaned against the opposite wall of the kitchen. He tilted her head up to look at him with a crooked finger under her chin. "You know I'd do anything for your happiness, yes? If I have to pull strings as chancellor, I will. That includes keeping you in this position you worked _so hard_ for."

For a brief moment, her heart fluttered. It was that tone that he took with her, that caring demeanor that he revealed only to her and no one else, that made her go weak in the knees. They'd had their fights, this one no exception, but somehow, she always found herself right back in his arms days later.

Meeting his gaze, intense and smoldering, she noted a twinkle in his eye, one that, despite all the years they'd known each other and been together, never ever faded. That sparkle was what drew her to him in the first place all those years ago. He really would've gone to the ends of Eos and back for her if it meant her happiness and she knew that deep in her heart. It was then she realized he was leaning in, far too much into her personal space, and she gasped. "Ardyn, wait . . ."

He stopped, but didn't back away, their faces so close that Aranea could hear him blink and felt the warmth of his breath. He always smelled of cloves and sandalwood. It was a scent she'd always associated with him from day one of meeting.

"Yes?"

Aranea hesitated, then responded quietly. "I think I should unpack and get showered. It's . . . ah, um . . . it's been a long trip home. I just need some time alone. Clear my head and all that."

She didn't know why she stopped him. Before this, before her trip to Insomnia, even before her failed _mission_ , Ardyn and Aranea hadn't so much as been in the same room with each other for longer than a couple of hours, and that was only because of work. Their lives were growing busier by the day and their relationship seemed to take on more of a 'long-distance' vibe than anything. Aranea should've been excited at the prospect of having actual, physical contact with her love, but something inside screamed for her to stop.

Ardyn took a half step back, no longer an imposing figure, and Aranea felt like she could breathe again, not having realized she'd been holding her breath for longer than she meant to. "Understood. I'll be on my way, but I ask that you not ignore my attempts at contact anymore. I truly do have your best interests at heart and I abhor the thought of walking away from you. You mean more to me than you know."

Ardyn stood for a second longer, almost as if he were waiting for Aranea to stop him, maybe invite him into her bedroom. Aranea tore her gaze away and found the traffic on the street far more interesting than Ardyn's silent proposition. After the quiet dragged on, Ardyn made a soft noise, a grunt of sorts, and slipped away to the apartment door, closing it behind him with a gentle click.

When she was sure he was finally gone, Aranea pushed off the wall, passing the bar counter to grab her phone, left there from when she first came in the apartment, and making her way to her quaint bedroom where she flopped on the bed. She turned on the phone and flipped through various apps to entertain herself until she gathered the energy to truly start to unpack and get in a shower. Soon, she exhausted that little routine of checking in with her social media, her emails, and whatever other notification popped up and began to close out of all the opened apps, one by one.

One window stopped her and she realized she'd never closed her text messenger application from earlier when Ignis asked if she'd made it back to her hotel, way before they knew who the other was. He was fun in the bedroom, she mused, but there was no way she could _ever_ let Ardyn know about her fling in Insomnia—not to mention the fact it was with the Royal fucking Strategist serving the Lucis Caelum family.

No big deal, right?

If Ardyn were to ever find out . . . Aranea pursed her lips and shook her head. No, she didn't want to think about it. Ardyn was kind to her, but not so generous to others. In any case, it wasn't like she was _with_ Ardyn at the time . . . or were they?

Semantics, really.

What happened with Ignis was a good time, and nothing more. It seemed like they both needed to let off some steam and they weren't exactly in the soberest of conditions to really have turned each other down, anyway. So, she resolved to leave him in the past and maybe revisit the memory from time to time in the bedroom, if that's what she chose to do.

With that, she closed the app and clicked off her phone, jumping up to take a very well-deserved hot shower.

* * *

It had been one hell of a week for Ignis, for more than one reason.

He'd spent more time holed up in his office in the Citadel than he had at home, pouring over notes, studying old texts, and watching the news for any bit of information that could help him strategize better against Niflheim. Dark circles under his eyes and a light stubble on his face gave his appearance a disheveled and sunken look. His appetite consisted purely of espresso and endless cups of coffee and he honestly couldn't remember having slept in his own bed at all this week, often waking up either slumped in his chair or face down in the crook of his elbow on his desk. And, now that the days were growing shorter and the nights longer with the passing of Summer into Autumn, Ignis felt like he hadn't been out during the daylight hours in ages.

Then, there was that nagging at the back of his mind regarding a certain Commodore. Try as he might, Ignis found his thoughts, more often than not, drifting back to her. When he couldn't focus on the paperwork in front of him, Ignis idly sat back in his chair and thumbed through his phone. Not one for social media like Noctis was, he would scroll through emails and saved documents from the Cloud before finding himself back on the first, last, and only text with her number at the top of the screen. She hadn't written back at all, but that read receipt taunted him, the one proving that Aranea did, in fact, read the text and left it hanging in her inbox without so much as a three-dotted pending bubble in return. When he was feeling bold, Ignis sometimes typed out a message—a hello, a simple 'how are you', a 'hope you made it home safe', always succinct and to the point, until he'd come to his senses and shake his head, mumbling as the blinking cursor backtracked over the letters. Back, back, back until the text box was clear of any message at all.

He knew it was a bad idea to even entertain the notion of any correspondence with her. _The enemy._ Not _just_ the enemy, but a high-ranking official of the enemy's army. The enemy that he was spending long days and even longer nights analyzing for a weakness, a soft-spot in their defenses.

How ridiculous. He had absolutely no reason to reach out to her, but he'd be a liar if he said he didn't miss her. Well, maybe 'miss' was the wrong word, but he felt _something_ when he thought about her, and it wasn't an emotion he could easily nail down.

Having spent his entire life living in terms of black and white, hard facts, and cold truths, this ambiguity and confusion surrounding him, Aranea, and what transpired between them was utterly exhausting. On top of doing his job, all while maintaining his watch over Noctis, well, Ignis was ready for some sort of break in the near future. Though, by the looks of his findings, and with the peace treaty talks being what they were, it didn't look like a break was in store for him anytime soon.

Early the following week, Regis called Ignis up to his chambers and asked to meet so that they could discuss everything in person. Today, Ignis walked the Citadel halls, papers in one arm while he scrolled through his phone in his other hand. At least he had the decency to shave and get his clothes dry-cleaned before today, amidst the haze induced by lack of sleep and running on empty.

Knocking at the door, Ignis waited to be summoned into the king's chambers but heard nothing. Maybe he hadn't knocked loud enough, so he tried again. "Majesty?" he called out, stealing a look at his watch to make sure he'd gotten the time correct. Yes, they were definitely set to meet right now, and it wasn't like the king to forget or to schedule things at the same time. Concerned, he knocked once more and still heard silence. Only then did he turn the knob, peeking in the room through the small sliver of space between the door and the frame. "Majesty? Are you busy? I can come ba—"

There, slouched over in his chair, was Regis, looking pallid and deathly ill.

"Your Majesty!" Ignis threw the door open and rushed inside, tossing his papers on a nearby table and kneeling at the king's side. Panic constricted Ignis' throat as he felt for a pulse—faint—and gently shook him, noting the sheen of sweat despite the chill of his ashen skin. At first, Regis didn't respond, head lolling from one shoulder to the other as he groaned. Finally, he seemed to come to and weakly lifted his head, meeting Ignis' widened eyes.

"Oh . . . Ignis . . . I . . ." Regis blinked and looked around the room as if trying to reorient himself with where he was. "My word . . . I must've fallen asleep. I apologize. Have you been here long?"

Ignis furrowed his brows, a grim expression on his face. "Sir," he started cautiously, "have you taken ill? You don't appear well at all."

Regis shook his head— likely to clear the fog of waking up—and waved Ignis off with a half-smile. "It's nothing, my boy. I've allowed my work to take precedence over my own health and, in doing so, I must have slipped into a catnap without realizing."

Unconvinced, the strategist stood up and walked to the nearby wet bar where he knew the king to keep various liquors and the occasional bottle of water. Sure enough, there was a cold bottle and Ignis snatched it up, cracking it open to hand to Regis. "Here, please; drink this. Shall I call the medic?"

Regis shook his head and did as he was told, taking small sips of the water. "No, please. It's just exhaustion. There's nothing to be concerned about."

Ignis wasn't sure what to do, completely at a loss, and his eyes fell on the black, ornate ring that the king wore on his wrinkled finger. The ring, the Ring of Lucii, a piece of jewelry passed down from generation to generation, glowed a faint light. Ignis was one of the few who knew what that ring meant and the price the wearer paid upon donning it. To keep Lucis safe from enemy attacks, Regis wore the ring to keep a wall of sorts around the country. Doing so, however, meant the deterioration of the king's health and an untimely death.

Ignis must've been staring for longer than Regis was comfortable with because he heard the king call his name. "Yes, sir?"

Color began to return to Regis' cheeks and he looked more alive now than he did moments ago. It didn't assuage Ignis' fears, but at least the man was responsive and seemed to be coming around. "I asked if you brought the papers for my review."

Nerves dried up his mouth and Ignis found it hard to find it inside of him to resist Regis' orders or requests, but he had to find the courage to do so. This couldn't happen. "Your Grace, at the risk of overstepping my position, I believe it best for you to rest. We can reschedule for a different date."

"Oh, don't be silly," he admonished, beckoning for the papers. "Please, let me see what grandiose proposal you've come up with.

The papers were thrown carelessly on the desk from when Ignis first rushed into the room. Regis raised an eyebrow, catching the young man as his eyes darted back and forth from the king to the papers, and back to the king. "Ignis," his voice a reproving tone, "the papers, if you would be so kind. I ask that you not make me repeat myself."

Ignis winced at that final warning. Try as he might, he'd have to give in. A sharp inhale, and he reluctantly reached for the folder, stuffed full of all his research and notes. He clutched it to his chest at first, unwilling to hand them over. It was a tense standoff. Ignis, unable to keep his hand steady, sighed and placed the dossiers in Regis' outstretched hand, his eyes cast to the ground as Regis nodded his approval and motioned for him to take a seat in a chair beside him.

Doing as he was told, Ignis sat down, hands clenched in his lap, and waited while his king flipped through the papers. "Ahhh . . . yes. Fascinating. You compiled all of this?" he asked. Ignis forced a smile but refused to look at him. Regis continued. "My word . . . your brilliance astounds me with every passing day. . . Interesting . . . Very interesting. Now . . . where is the . . . Ah! Here we go . . . Hmm . . . Yes, please, enlighten me as to why you chose to attack via the Ghorovas Rift? That seems like a rather bold move on our part, considering the terrain."

Clearing his throat, Ignis gave a non-committal shrug. His voice croaked at first, but then he found his footing and continued. "From what I've deduced, the Ghorovas Rift is barren enough that we could descend on Gralea without our men and women being noticed. They would not expect us there. Indeed, the terrain is horribly treacherous, but it is our best bet at blindsiding the enemy. If we're able to infiltrate Gralea, we have a chance at a quick victory and this war could be won with minimal casualties."

Regis leaned over and patted Ignis' arm, a congratulatory gesture. "Well done, my boy. Excellent work. Truly remar-" A sharp and ragged cough cut the king off and Ignis straightened up. He didn't offer any help this time, knowing full well that Regis would only deny it and insist that he had nothing to worry about. After the coughing subsided, he turned another page as if nothing had happened, finishing his sentence. "As I was saying, this is truly remarkable. You've outdone yourself, Ignis."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

Even though Regis lavished praise on Ignis' plan, already his mind was in overdrive with how to change everything. He studied his king as the king studied the papers, taking in the worry lines and wrinkles that had grown and deepened significantly just in the last few months. Regis was by no means a young man, but he wasn't old by any stretch of the imagination. The Ring, however, caused rapid aging and that was evident as Ignis' stomach knotted at just how worn down his king appeared.

Going through with the original strategy would surely cause Regis his life. The longer he held the wall up across all of Lucis, the less time he'd have left to reign over Insomnia-and to be there with, and for, Noctis as he came into adulthood and his place as future king. Ignis continued to sit there, half-listening as Regis mumbled some words here and there.

Regis had taken Ignis in when he was barely six years old. Although he lived with his Uncle until he could afford his own apartment—the one he currently inhabited—it was Regis who felt more like family to him than anything. Noctis may have been his biological son, but Regis always made sure that Ignis was taken care of in the same way as if he were his own child. Though he was technically Noctis' retainer, Regis never made him feel that way. Ever.

Now, sitting here watching with bated breath, a king he loved and cherished like a father, Ignis made the silent decision to scratch all his hard work. The countless hours that week, the endless nights, all of it . . . he'd do it all over again to ensure that he had a different plan that would keep Regis alive for a little while longer—For Noctis, for himself, and for the entire city of Insomnia . . . even if that meant Lucis, as a whole, making some sacrifices.

Their meeting wrapped up not long after and Regis handed the papers back to Ignis while pinching the bridge of his nose. "My country . . ." he lamented, wistful and forlorn. "How did we get to this point? I can't help but feel wholly responsible for this . . ." Regis sighed as Ignis stood. "I'm not an emotional man, but this air of foreboding has me feeling nostalgic for the simpler times."

The king looked up at Ignis and changed tones, from one of hopelessness to one of pride. "Once again, you've done a fine job, Ignis. I cannot say we'd be where we are now if it weren't for your wit and intellect. As such, we will meet once more next week with the council to put this plan into motion to discuss deployments, how best to continue once we've accomplished our task, and so on. I entrust you to arrange for the assembly and invite the necessary council members. Should anyone respond that they're unable to attend, let me know at once."

Ignis blinked and nodded slowly when everything began to sink in. Regis raised an eyebrow and that snapped Ignis out of his haze. He bowed to the king, mumbling his agreeance, and was dismissed after that. But, just as Ignis exited the quarters, Regis' voice, now quiet, stopped him. "One more thing, Ignis? Before you go? If you could, I ask that you keep what you witnessed earlier to yourself. I see no reason to worry Noctis over a simple dizzy spell, do you agree?"

Pursing his lips, he nodded after a second's thought. "As you wish. My lips are sealed."

"Thank you." Regis smiled. "You may go."

A deep bow, then Ignis turned and left, closing the door behind him. His mind was going a million miles a minute and suddenly the weight of everything settled heavily on his shoulders. It took all he had to move, to put one foot in front of the other and walk away from the door, a sinking, sick feeling heavy in the pit of his stomach.

After all, no one ever said war was easy.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Well, I'm back . . . again . . . for now at least. Just needed to take a step back. I didn't mean to let stuff get in the way of this fic, but I really hope you understand. Never fear, though, because I promise I will finish this fic come hell or high water, so don't worry about that :)**

 **Don't forget, I live for comments and people screaming at me on here, so reach out and tell me your thoughts. You can also find me on Tumblr AND you can now follow me on Twitter! Woohoo, moving on up in the social media world!**

 **Thanks so much guys!**


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

It was strange, these nerves he felt.

Ignis was not normally a man who let things affect him. He was never an anxious person by nature. He never buckled under pressure. In fact, he would wager big money to say that there had never been a time in his life where he felt the least bit stressed when it came to his job or any other facet of his life-including having to explain the results of his research when it came to militaristic strategy as he was planning to do now. Ignis was smart; he knew what he was talking about and understood well that the royal family, and the rest of Insomnia and Lucis, trusted him to carry out his best-laid plans.

Never before had it been an issue.

Today, though, his mouth was oddly dry. Under his gloves, his palms were clammy and his hands trembled. If he had to talk right now, at this exact moment, Ignis knew he'd be a stuttering mess. Granted, he knew he had some time before he needed to present his report to the council members, but still. He wasn't ready. He was terrified. Not only was this _not_ the plan that Regis approved the week prior, but it also involved throwing away an entire city in order to keep their king alive. Either way, someone would be upset. It was a true recipe for disaster.

Galahd, a city just on the outskirts of Insomnia, was a small city of several thousand people, mostly farmers and agricultural workers. Trades between Insomnia and Galahd were a regular occurrence, with one exporting crops and goods, while the other exchanged those for technology and the occasional large check. It was a system that worked and had been in place for years now, maybe even decades. Insomnians and the citizens of Galahd were friendly with each other, but this would certainly ruin any niceties the city and the town would have with each other.

"Ignis, you may have the floor." A booming voice allowed. A sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Ignis tried woefully to push the unfamiliar feeling of nerves and anxiety to the side as he walked to the front of the chambers, where several high-standing officials, Clarus, a few Kingsglaive, and Regis himself, had their eyes situated. Watching. Waiting.

Ignis spent the next week after his meeting with Regis trying to figure out a better offense that possibly kept Regis alive, if not just for Noctis' sake, but also Ignis' own. Sure, he could go forth with keeping the wall up while their Glaives charged at Niflheim, through Ghorovas Pass, and into Gralea like originally planned, but that still left the wall up and a very angry Niflheim if the plan didn't work. Suicide at the very core of it all. Then, he looked at other ways into Niflheim that didn't sacrifice so many soldiers in the process due to the harsh winter of the Empire. Nope, nothing. Niflheim would have the entire Lucian continent, as well as the Crown City, in their grasp in no time.

Eventually, Ignis turned to a better defense. He looked into pulling the wall away from the coast, back from Galdin Quay and Cape Caem. However, that would completely cut off their resources to the sea, as well as the imports and exports from other larger cities like Altissia. Then, there was the idea of sacrificing the area more west of Insomnia—Lestallum and the small towns around there. However, if that were to happen, then energy resources and commodities, such as weapons and other artillery, would be lost as well. Plus, Lestallum was one of the larger cities within the Lucian continent, which meant more loss of life, too.

Back and forth, flipping through papers and notes and ignoring his growling stomach, Ignis stayed up long hours—both because he couldn't go to sleep when such important work kept his mind awake, and also because lives were at stake. Real, actual human lives. Mothers and fathers, siblings and children, aunts, uncles, grandparents . . . no matter his decision, people would be affected. The situation didn't allow him to even think about closing his eyes for any semblance of rest. The thought alone would've kept Ignis awake in his bed, tossing and turning and writhing in his sheets, if it weren't for the fact that he was falling asleep—again—at his desk.

Now he stood, eyes darting back and forth between the audience at the table as they watched him, leaned forward with serious expressions painted on their faces. Behind him was a projection of the Lucian continent, complete with some dotted lines showing where the wall was. "Yes, good afternoon," he began, standing up tall with one hand holding the remote that controlled the map on the screen. His notes were stacked neatly in front of him, but he didn't need them. No matter what, it would be an absolute madhouse here in a moment.

A murmur of 'good afternoon's' echoed in return. Taking a deep breath, Ignis pressed a button and a red dot appeared where Galahd should've been. "The Empire has tried for years to dominate Eos, and during those years we've fought back time after time. We've refused to allow them the opportunity to hold us under their thumb, but the longer we continue this stand-off, the weaker our wall grows and the stronger their technology and army of Magitek drones become."

Ignis used the remote to highlight the area on the projector he was referring to before continuing. "As you can see, I've outlined where His Majesty has our wall at right now, surrounding the entire Lucian border. While normally I wouldn't have taken this into consideration, certain situations have come to light that have made me question my prior strategic plan when it came to the impending war against Niflheim. It is no longer a question of if, but more so when, the Empire will strike. At first, I reasoned that a great offense would be our best weapon: get in, get out, and move on. Our Glaives are skilled in this respect and, with what knowledge I do have regarding their expertise in the art of combat and war, I know they'd pull off that plan of attack very well. However, I'd like to propose a different approach . . . one that I garner will not be well received, but may be our only option."

With another click of a button, the dotted lines moved further and further back from their original spots. The entire west coast of Lucis, bits of the southern border, the Vesperpool region, and Galahd were now outside of the lines, marked in translucent red fill to indicate they were vulnerable to the enemy. Before the slide even finished moving and rearranging the map, some members of the board were on their feet and one Glaive in particular—Nyx Ulric, Ignis recognized—was storming from his post at the door to the large table, pointing a finger and screaming. "What the fuck is this bullshit? Are you kidding me? Are you sacrificing my hometown to those sorry Nifs?!"

Ignis knew he probably looked calm and maybe a little cocky outwardly, but inside he was a mess. Despite knowing this was the reaction he'd get, it still surprised him and made him feel guilty as all hell. He flashed a look to Regis who didn't seem too pleased with the advisor, but he held a hand up anyway to signal for silence. Everyone was too wrapped up in yelling at Ignis, at each other, spiraling into panic to notice. It wasn't until Clarus stood from his chair and bellowed a deep and angry, "Silence!" that everyone quickly took their seats again. Everyone, except for Nyx.

He remained at the other end of the long marble meeting table, his face scrunched and teeth bared. "I absolutely fucking refuse to stand here and let you throw away my home like it means nothing to you! It must be so fucking easy for you to stand there and tout this bullshit while you remain safe in this fucking city!"

Clarus, calmly beside Regis, narrowed his eyes and snarled. "Ulric, stand down before I call your superior to haul you out of here," he threatened.

Nyx ignored the warning and turned to plead with the king. "Your Majesty, please don't let this happen. As a man of the people, you can't throw these people out like they don't matter! There are men, women, and children there who rely on us—on you—for their safety and wellbeing. It's absurd to think that casting them out like this is going to win us the war!"

It wasn't until Nyx glared angrily at Ignis that he felt the need to apologize or say something to everyone, especially the emotional and irrational Glaive standing before them. No, he wasn't trying to rip apart families, cast out civilians in neighboring cities and towns, or appear so cruel and callous, but he knew that's exactly what he was doing. He may as well have spat in Nyx's face, or the faces of everyone in that room, for all they cared. Seeing so many angry people in front of him rocked Ignis' composure. When he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. He was speechless. Not a single thing could be said that would fix this or make them happy, but it had to be done. Didn't it? Nyx kept his eyes firm and steady on Ignis, daring him to voice what exactly was on his mind.

Ignis saw Regis lean over to say something in Clarus' direction and barely heard the words cross his lips, the commotion in the room and the murmuring of everyone still loud enough to nearly drown out what was being said. "Clarus, if you would, escort everyone out of here so that I may speak with Scientia alone. I don't want to put my seal of approval on anything until I finalize some small details. I will send for you when we're through."

"Yes, sir," the Shield said, straightening up and instructing everyone to file for the doors. On cue, everyone mumbled and griped as they exited the chambers. When Nyx tried to protest, fingertips white as he pressed hard on the tabletop, Clarus leveled a glare in his direction, flicking his wrist for him to follow and to not say anything otherwise.

Ignis remained at the podium, hands gripping the sides like his life depended on it. Soon, it was just the King and Ignis, alone. Was he about to be let go from his position as Noctis' advisor, the Royal Strategist, for undermining what Regis asked in the first place? For going behind his back after approving his prior plan and rearranging everything?

"Your Majesty?" he squeaked, his voice unrecognizable.

"Ignis, please step down and take a seat."

Yup, this was it. He was done for.

He tried to hide his face, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as he stepped from behind the protective post of the podium and took his seat again across from the king. It was futile to calm the racing thoughts in his head, but he tried to do so anyway. After what felt like forever, sitting in a chair that felt like it'd grown a million sizes too big since he made the announcement to the audience, Ignis looked up over the rims of his glasses and felt like no more than a child ready to be scolded.

"Sir?" his voice cracked.

Growing up, Ignis _hated_ getting in trouble. Absolutely hated it. Lucky him, since Regis always had a way of making anyone feel small when he was angry or upset. "Ignis, you surprise me," he sighed. "What you presented today was not at all what you put forward at our last meeting. It's not like you to second guess your own plans, though I think we can both agree that you wouldn't do so without a good, sound reason, no?"

Ignis squinted, the muscles in his shoulders and arms tense. He wasn't entirely sure when he realized his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth, but he opened his mouth and reached a shaking hand up to rub under his chin and jawline. Regis leaned forward and the sun rays from the skylight windows hit him at such an angle that made him look more weary than usual. When Regis cleared his throat, Ignis realized he was still quiet and hadn't responded to Regis' question. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" the King prodded.

"Uh . . . well, you see . . ." What exactly could Ignis say to him? Either way, what he did made it appear that he didn't entirely trust Regis' judgment. He deliberately went behind his back and changed what was already approved. Ignis took a deep breath and his shoulders hunched forward in resignation. "No, sir. I did, indeed, change the plans I showed you before. However, I did so because I couldn't . . . after the incident in your office . . . Majesty, I'm so sorry. I know this looks bad on my part, but please forgive me."

There was a commotion outside the chambers and Ignis half-hoped it was some bigger, pressing issue that Regis would need to tend to, but no one came in to alert the king and, as such, the two were left sitting across from one another. The tension was enough to make Ignis want to jump out of his own skin.

Regis sat back in his seat, his features softening, to Ignis' surprise. "I know you did what you felt in your heart was right. That is why I asked you to come on as Noctis' aide—at the end of the day, you know when it's best to follow your gut. You are a bright, intelligent young man and I trust you. If I didn't, you would've been out as Insomnia's strategist long ago." He exhaled loudly. "What I am concerned about is that you felt it unnecessary to consult with me regarding your changes. I feel as if I've been blindsided by this, and I can't let this go without saying something. With that in mind, I can't find it in my heart to sacrifice an entire coastline and a town full of innocent civilians for the sake of my own life. Even you can see that that's utterly barbaric."

Ignis flinched. The word 'barbaric' struck a nerve, but he tried to look passed it. "I see where you are coming from, Your Majesty, but I respectfully disagree. As it stands now—and please forgive me for speaking out of turn—if we keep the walls and borders up as they are in this moment, we could lose all of Lucis before the end of the year. The Empire grows stronger every day and I have it on good authority from a few of our Glaives that they are continuing to build up an army, using Magitek technology, to use against us. Leave the wall around the entirety of Lucis, and you run the risk of falling so weak that you perish and leave everyone in harm's way. With this, we stand a chance at winning against them. We can't do that, though, if you fall to the strength of your Ring."

As Regis closed his eyes, pondering this explanation, Ignis reached for a spare map that he'd left in front of him on the table before he was asked to stand and present to the audience at the podium. Ignis pushed the map toward the king and tapped one long finger in the general vicinity of Galahd. "We can order a silent evacuation; allow women and children to flee to safety. If we let on what our plans are, however, Niflheim may see right through it and come for all of us. They are ruthless and I fear they will stop at nothing to get what they want."

Regis hummed and held the paper away from his face as he read the map. A chime somewhere in the hallway alerted Ignis it was one o'clock, but he didn't pull his gaze from the king. Finally, Regis put the map down. There wasn't a bit of emotion on his face and that terrified Ignis. What was he thinking? Regis was a kind king, but he wouldn't throw his own life away for the sake of his people . . . would he? He had Noctis to think about, an entire continent's worth of people . . . not to mention Ignis himself.

"I'm disappointed, Ignis. Truly, I am . . . but I feel it would be unwise to ignore your judgment."

"Sir?"

Regis pinched the bridge of his nose and Ignis fought to remain seated, wanting to grab some water, painkillers, or something for his king to ward off what looked to be an impending headache. "We will pull back the wall, but I demand my Glaives to be deployed and ready for what I'm sure will be an attack from Niflheim. From there, I want you to keep your eyes and ears out for where we will go next."

He approved. The King was approving Ignis' new plan and he wasn't sure what to do next. This wasn't a happy, joyous occasion, but it was a start to hopefully winning this war and ending this ridiculous feud. "Understood, Your Majesty. I'll speak with the Marshal at once so we can begin the deployment."

"Very well. I appreciate all your hard work, but we will speak again regarding your swapping out plans without notifying me or your superiors."

Ignis slowly stood from his chair, bowing at the waist in the process. "My apologies. I only have the best intentions in mind."

"Indeed," the king lowered his head ever so slightly, acknowledging Ignis' apology. "You may go. I'll be in touch."

The advisor forced a weak smile, hastily piling his papers together and shoving them in his briefcase before leaving, unable to get out of the chambers fast enough, quickly closing the giant doors behind him. He could practically hear Regis' thoughts, the regret radiating from his being. Ignis ignored everyone he walked by as he made his way down the halls, down various stairs and outside to where he parked his car that morning. Everything just felt so _wrong_. Disgusting. He wanted to run home, dive under the covers of his bed, and never come out.

Anything to forget the entire afternoon and the disappointed look that Regis gave him.

* * *

Aranea knew to keep up with current events. As Commodore, it was basically implied that she needed to be in the know with what was going on. She watched her television. She clicked the links on the internet. All of it . . .

It was hard to avoid it—the media, the breaking news—as it flashed across the screens of televisions all over Niflheim the last few days. Everyone learned, in a strange turn of events, the wall that the royal family used to keep Lucis safe was unexpectedly pulled back from several different areas around the continent. The Vesperpool was now out in the open, but that would have little to no use to Niflheim. The town of Galahd, however, was an entirely different story.

Called in for an emergency meeting, Aranea was now sitting in a darkened room, flanked on either side by Ardyn and Ravus Nox Fleuret, the High Commander for the Imperial Army. A newer member of the Empire, he puzzled Aranea as he'd never been one for words or pleasantries. When he was brought on after mysteriously being exiled from his home state of Tenebrae, he implemented few new rules and such before going about his work. To Aranea, Ravus didn't seem like someone who even cared about this so-called war that was about to begin, but he must've cared enough to be here and to stay on as such a high ranking official.

The four were now in a room, the doors guarded by others in the army. Iledolas sat directly across from Aranea, a glint in his eye under the weirdly-bright spotlight in the room. It almost seemed like an interrogation of sorts, but she sat up straight and prepared to listen to his Majesty's words.

"As you're aware, Insomnia appears to have thrown their pathetic farming town to the wolves, so to speak. An unwise, yet enigmatic, folly on their part, wouldn't you say?" the Emperor asked rhetorically, his eyes drifting lazily to each person in front of him. Ravus remained mute, looking dreadfully bored, while Ardyn perked up slightly. Aranea knew Ardyn always loved when conflict and mayhem were on the horizon, which is exactly where everything seemed to be headed these days. Iledolas continued. "For such a wise man, the King is quite daft. No, there must be something more at play here. We will take what they are offering, but I refuse to believe we're allowed such a great reward for little risk. Besides, it's not the land, nor their paltry offering at peace, that I covet. We'll need to get inside that wall if we want to take down the Crown and seize that Crystal."

Aranea rested her cheek on her balled fist, stifling a yawn. The atmosphere of the room brought her energy level down and she fought hard to appear somewhat engaged. The dim lighting, the almost suffocating air, the fact that everything they were discussing was humdrum—Aranea was more of an action girl. Talking too long about strategy instead of actually _doing_ anything bored her to tears. She didn't want to look like she was losing interest though, so she drummed her fingers of her other hand and blew a piece of hair away from her face. "If we want to get in, let's just blow up the damn Citadel or something. We have the manpower for it."

"If I may," Ardyn interrupted, his voice like a thick syrup in an already tense room, drawling and accented, "rather than take the easy route, one that they'd expect of us, what if we attack with matters closer to the heart?"

All eyes were on Ardyn and one corner of Iledolas' mouth twitched. "Continue," he said.

"I agree with Ms. Highwind that attacking the Citadel is the first course of action that I considered as well, but let us consider showing not only Lucis, but the entire _world_ , that you, Iledolas Aldercapt, are reigning royalty of Eos. It is _you_ everyone should fear and look to. What better way to do that then . . . oh, I don't know . . ." he tipped his fedora back enough to let a sliver of light shine on his face. "Take that precious prince that everyone fawns over? Regis would fall all over himself to get him back, and the Crystal—and Eos—would be as good as ours."

"That boy of his will be of great use to us," Iledolas muttered, tapping his fingers on the marble tabletop. "The question remains . . . how do we get to him? I imagine he's always got an army of men around him at all times. How foolish of Regis to ever let his sweet prince dawdle far from safety."

Ravus hummed, but Aranea had a hard time discerning whether it was a hum in agreement or dissent. Out of the corner of her eye, Aranea saw Ardyn nod. "So, it seems. The prince will be difficult to capture and, frankly, it would be a suicide mission if we tried. No, we need something more. Or, possibly, someone more."

The room went quiet as Iledolas pondered this thought. He stroked his beard, twirling the longer hairs between his thumb and pointer fingers. Aranea almost missed when he raised an eyebrow, an idea coming to him. "If not the boy . . . then someone else close to him. Someone . . . " The sound he made, a cross between a growl and a sinister giggle, shot shivers down Aranea's spine. Astrals, she really hated this man.

"You know of someone?" Ardyn cocked his head to the side.

Iledolas calmed himself, but he was still giddy with glee. "Yes . . . there was a man with his Highness. A man who appeared to be of kin, or as close to kin as possible. Yes . . . ohhhh yes . . . this is too perfect." Iledolas turned his head slightly in Aranea's direction, pointedly locking eyes with her. What did he know that she didn't?

Another low chuckle echoed off the walls and wormed into Aranea's ears, but she wasn't the only one a few paces behind in what was Iledolas' runaway train of an idea. "That stalwart lackey of the prince's is our ticket into that royal family. From what I concluded while at that pathetic meeting they called a 'peace talk', he was the—"

Before she could stop herself, she finished his sentence. "Advisor."

"Exactly." He grinned a Cheshire cat smile, steepling his fingers. "Not only the advisor, but a close confidant to the Caelum boy . . . And if that's the case, then he will have all the information we need on, not only the Crystal, but also on that pathetic excuse of a prince."

Ardyn quickly caught on to what it was that the Emperor was implying. "Get this man to trust us, and the information will flow in. Once we have the necessary particulars, or once that one small detail slips—"

"Then we swoop in and take what we've been after for so long. When Regis sees that his son is in our hands—after that advisor starts talking—the king will have no choice but to hand over that crystal. Then, Niflheim will reign supreme over all the lands!"

If this moment were a scene from a cheesy thriller movie, Aranea swore he would've taken this time to laugh diabolically, head tossed back to the ceiling while holding his belly to contain the maniacal fit. However, it wasn't a cheesy thriller and Aranea had the sinking feeling that her role in this plan wasn't just putting on all black and playing stealthy spy for 120 minutes. She rolled her eyes. "And where exactly do I come in?"

It was strange how a single look could chill her to the bone. Normally, Aranea could hold her own and she never let Aldercapt strike fear in her heart. She could knock him on his ass with one swift kick. For some reason, right now she was petrified of whatever he had in mind for her. "Commodore, you think me for a fool? Don't think I missed your absence on our way out to our waiting vehicle that day. I may be old, but I'm not senile. You have an established, dare I say, relationship with this man we speak of?"

Ardyn flicked his eyes her way and Aranea swallowed the lump of fear that lodged its way into her throat. Sheer panic clouded her thoughts and she felt herself shaking her head no. "I believe you're mistaken, your Grace. I don't . . . I haven't . . . "

Next to her, Ravus watched on with a cold stare, one that Aranea wanted to slap right off him (who the fuck did he think he was, judging the situation like he knew what was going on?), and Ardyn had a blank canvas of a face—not angry, but not exactly thrilled. Aranea took a deep breath and pulled her hands from the tabletop onto her lap, clenching her fists so that her nails dug deep into the palms of her hands. Anything to calm herself at this point. She inhaled again and began to speak once more, proud that her voice wasn't wavering. "Sir, it is true that I spoke with the advisor of the prince, but it was only to see to it that our car was waiting outside as requested. No other words were exchanged, and I found you shortly after. Believe that I would never jeopardize my standing within this empire and with those who have faith in me and my work."

The words hung in the air, thick with the sound of excuses, but either Iledolas really was more senile than they all thought, or he was just gracious enough to let it slide. "Be that as it may, you have a lot of work to do if you're ever to be revered as high as you once were, before your blunder of mission prior."

Aranea lowered her head and nodded discreetly. "Yes, sir. I understand."

"As such, I have a much more . . . interesting mission . . . for you in mind. One that I'm sure you'll find no problem in completing. After all, you are the one best suited for this . . . the one person that I trust most for this."

That was confusing. What on Eos could Iledolas be thinking that Aranea could do that no one else could? What ace did he have up his sleeve that he figured she could complete this supposed mission better than the likes of Ravus, Ardyn, or anyone else? He must have sensed her hesitancy because he chuckled again. That fucking smirk . . . Aranea felt the room drop twenty degrees. "Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it."

"Yes, you see . . . we need someone to infiltrate the Royal Family. Figure out how they tick. What is their weak point? Ahhh, I see you look baffled. Allow me to explain. Getting any information by typical means of espionage will most certainly not do when it comes to the Royal Family. No, Regis and his men are too smart and too quick for that. We need to find some other way to extract the necessary information to retrieve the Crystal and take down Insomnia. I need you to . . . get close to the family, if you catch my drift."

Aranea pursed her lips, slowly realizing what it was that he was hinting at. "You don't mean . . ."

"Ahhhh, there's that bright mind of yours working. Yes, I do mean exactly what it is you're thinking. I need you to get in with that advisor that you seemed so friendly with just days ago."

She practically choked on her own spit and saliva. "No . . . I can't. Sir, you know I can't. I will plan to infiltrate the Citadel. I will take down other cities and towns. I can't fake a romance for the sake of kidnapping that kid."

"I don't think you understand, Ms. Highwind. I'm not asking you to do this mission. I'm telling you that it is an order. You have no choice. You are to use whatever means necessary to get close to that advisor, or so help me Ramuh, it'll be your life on the line. I do not want to see you come back empty handed into these chambers. I want blood. I want lives. I want that Crystal and I want that boy, do you understand me?"

Aranea swallowed heavy, a bead of sweat dripping down her neck behind her thick, silver hair. Beside her, she felt Ardyn's keen glare on her and she fought the urge to look his way. Gods, this wasn't happening. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell the Emperor that he was mistaken and that she certainly couldn't do this, but he raised an eyebrow and effectively silenced her. All that escaped her mouth was a feeble, "Yes, your Grace."

"Good. That's a good Commodore. Now, let's go ahead and adjourn this meeting. I'm exhausted for the day. You are all dismissed. We will reconvene at my word and not a moment sooner. Good day."

The screech of chairs scraping against the floor gave Aranea a headache . . . or maybe she'd already had one and hadn't noticed until just now. It was definitely a possibility, especially being in the presence of such an asshole. She stood and waited until Iledolas exited the room, followed closely behind by Ravus, a looming presence behind him. Ardyn's hand rested on Aranea's shoulder and she resisted shrugging him off, finding the weight of it somewhat soothing in the aftermath of such a hellish meeting.

Just when she thought this hour of her day couldn't get any worse, Ardyn had to go and ask what she prayed he wouldn't. "My love," he began, his voice louder than she anticipated, "the advisor? I've worked alongside the Emperor for years now and I don't know that he's ever been mistaken on things of this nature before. So, I'm going to ask you once, and I hope that you'll be honest with me since you know how much I love honesty. Was there an incident back at the Crown City involving you and the Royal Family's advisor?"

She could be honest. She could tell Ardyn right now that she'd had a great time one night after drinking at the bar with Biggs and Wedge. It didn't mean anything. It was just her blowing off steam and she was single. There wasn't any reason for him to be mad. Right? After all, there was that other time a few years back where they took a break and Ardyn went off with some random chick working in one of the offices of the castle, but it wasn't something that Aranea ever held against him.

This was different, though. This was nearly borderline treason. It wasn't like she knew that Ignis was a Lucian at the time. Well, he wasn't exactly a Lucian . . . didn't he say he was born in Tenebrae and immigrated into Lucis as a child by means of the King? It didn't matter-Ardyn would still blow a gasket if he found out she slept with the enemy. Why make waves now, anyway?

She threw on her most charming smile, leaning into the hand still rested on her shoulder. "He's getting older, Ardyn. I honestly don't have any idea what he's going on about. Yes, the advisor was there, but we only spoke briefly about the whereabouts of our vehicle on our way out of the Citadel. No more, no less."

Ardyn's eyes flickered as he studied her intently. Aranea kept her eyes on him, waiting for him to call her out on her lie. She knew it was coming by the way he tightened his hand and she braced herself accordingly. The time stilled, but nothing happened. Strange enough, he smirked and pulled her to his chest. "He has gone quite mad these last several years, hasn't he?"

Aranea blinked. He bought it. He actually bought her flimsy lie. It took everything she had not to burst into a fit of giggles into his chest, but she forced those back and nodded. "Yes, indeed he has," she agreed solemnly.

"Well then, how do you feel about this mission, then? Feel you're up to it?"

"I don't know . . . what do you think about it? I can't imagine you're very thrilled about the prospect of me using my impeccable good looks and my wit to charm the pants off some stupid Lucian."

He shrugged. "No, but I have all the faith in the world that you can pull this off. If you manage to not only snatch up information that we need to take down the Crown City, but also weaken the King by kidnapping that insolent child of his, you are well on your way to holding the title of General in no time. I don't see how you could mess this one up."

A nervous laugh echoed in the room and it took a second to realize that it was her laughing and not some other random servant stuck in the shadows of the corner. No, how could she mess it up? If only Ardyn knew how easy it had been to go home with Ignis that night. How little effort it took on both their parts. All it took was a fuck ton of scotch and a night on the patio of a bar for him to open up to her. She remembered the looks he shot her way from across the table, in the back of that gross taxi van, and then the expression on his face when they saw each other again the next day and behind that pillar. Oh yes, she remembered all too well what he was practically screaming at her telepathically. How much he desperately wanted her. No surprise there, though. What guy didn't want her? Seriously, this would be a cakewalk.

Plus, all she would have to do is remind him how great the sex was. It was, honestly, some of the best sex she'd ever had, and that was saying something. Ignis knew what the fuck he was doing, and she'd be a fucking liar if she denied that to anyone, especially herself.

A nude picture here, a text message detailing what she wanted to do to him . . . he was a guy, after all. She just needed to appeal to his carnal urges and soon enough he'd be putty in her hands.

She must've been quieter for far longer than she meant to because soon she was coming back to herself as Ardyn called her name a few times. Aranea snapped back to reality and forced a smile. "Oh yeah. Definitely. You know me-when it comes to seducing someone, I've got this. Practically all I'm good for, right?"

Ardyn laughed. "My love . . . my darling," the pet names strangely causing her to internally cringe today, "you're much more than that. But, I do believe this mission will be all yours."

He moved his hand from her shoulder down to her lower back, escorting her through the room and to the door. Together, they walked down the halls of the building, all the while Aranea conjuring up plan after plan, scheming the best way to reach out to Ignis again without coming off too desperate. Too needy. Too much like a woman with an ulterior motive.

It was his life or hers, and she sure as fuck wasn't going down without a fight when it came to herself and her position within the Niflheim Empire.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Well, whoops! If you don't follow my Tumblr, then let me say I apologize for the incredibly long time between my last update and this one . . . and I apologize if this chapter comes off a little bland (the politics of everything in this was very hard to get right). Basically, long story short (and without getting too personal), I had to step away and take care of myself. I'm ok now, but it was a rough two months and I needed to get better :) Also, I started a new job two weeks ago and I'm just now getting truly settled in.**

 **I also got super self-conscious of this story, and maybe I still am? I worry it's not as entertaining as my last fic, so I completely shut down and refused to open anything related to this story until recently. I'm trying! I really love what this story has in store for the future, but I just need to get there.**

 **Anyway, enough of the sappy crap. Thank you all so much for reaching out and asking how I was. It means the world to me and I appreciate it more than you will ever know. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I have the next one mostly written, but I just need to edit and polish it :D Yay!**


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